


A Reason for You Everyday, My Cat

by MeikoAtsushi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Facades, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Love, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Self-Harm, Some blood but nothing serious guys, break ups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-12-10 06:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeikoAtsushi/pseuds/MeikoAtsushi
Summary: The last thing Kuroo expected was to meet Oikawa at his ex-crush's wedding, and have that encounter progress into something much more. The Cat is certain there is no reason why the Great King would favor him so, but apparently there's   too many - at least, according to Oikawa."Why do you love me anyway?" He grumbled."I'd take at least an eternity to say all of them, Kuro-chan."(A.k.a. - Kuroo has lost all hope, and Oikawa wants him to believe otherwise.)





	1. Every List Has a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to warn everyone about to read this fic about several points: firstly, events and feelings that happen in this story are serious issues - depression, anxiety, self-harm - if this is something you suffer with, please tell someone. Secondly, it deals with many sensitive topics such as homophobia, one that I have experience with - so please don't take it lightly or regard it as a joke. 
> 
> Also, this chapter wasn't edited... at all. So I apologize for the exploding errors present. 
> 
> Thank you, enjoy the story!

People clapping.

That was the first thing he heard when he had woken from his trance. 

A loud, supportive applause. Friendly whistling, and shouts from the guests cheering the two men under the spotlight of their day. There were many Kuroo recognized from his youthful days, including the whole Fukurodani team during Bokuto's sparkling ages. In fact, Kuroo believed that over a well five-sixths of the room were the players from high school, all ones that the blackhead either went up against or never at all. 

"Hoot, Bokuto, my man!"

"Idiot,  _Akaashi's_ man! Be sensible with words!"

Small crowds of laughter broke out amongst some minuscule groups - former regulars from their team. That was about the moment when Kuroo finally remembered where he was currently standing - on Fukurodani's once-empty volleyball court, at Bokuto and Akaashi's wedding. The wild groom insisted that he didn't want to do it the nice, classic way, but  _their_ style - which evidently, as told now, was getting married at a place where the two held the most memories together. Akaashi wasn't against the idea, as it was Bokuto's. Everyone was convinced that it was a perfect idea, coming from someone as dense and thoughtless as Bokuto. 

Even Kuroo agreed - it was creative, anyway. He couldn't imagine any other couple having their wedding located at a volleyball court. He was glad that his best friend had got together with the love of his life in their favorite way. 

A few tempos too delayed, Kuroo began to clap as Bokuto and Akaashi walked past his field of vision, grinning and blushing like mad. The stoic Akaashi was smiling irresistibly, his fingers tightly wrapped around Bokuto's rough hand. The world seemed to move in slow motion, as Bokuto's fiery eyes met Kuroo's during that specific moment, his old rival's expression a shouting bliss. "Hey, Kuroo, my bro!"

Heavy, pounding mixture of blood and pulse rushing through his system, Kuroo fought back an unknown emotion surfacing his face. "Hey, bro. Congratulations." His muscles cracked a curved shape, out of a forgotten habit, a memorized action.  _He's happy. I can see it._ For once, he desperately desired to see his reflection in the mirror - did he look skeptical? Was the smile insincere? 

_Did Bokuto notice?_

But his question was soon answered when his ex-crush turned his head and continued down the middle of the blue court. 

 

 

After the main ceremony was pretty much over, Kuroo joined the past regular members of his own team, Nekoma. Kenma, the one who reluctantly came with him to the whole event, passed him a glass of wine. As the taller male received the beverage, the other stuck abnormally close to him. "Kenma?"

"... Kuro, are you alright?"

His golden eyes tinted with his usual laziness but with a concerning edge, Kenma avoided eye contact with his best friend. Kuroo just hummed. "Yeah, of course I am. I'm over it."

The pudding head twitched beside him, irked. "Don't pull a cool front when you're just Kuro." 

"Kenma, that hurts."

"Seriously."

Kuroo stole a confirming glance at their old setter. He was now a tad bit taller, although not by much (Kenma still pointed out that it was a significant improvement), and he dyed his blond hair a few months ago again. His hair cascaded down his back, tied in a ponytail, and his presence was still low as ever. But Kuroo knew - Kenma would always be worried about him. "I'm serious."

"Then alright." The man fumbled for his PSP that he received from Lev last year as a birthday present of sorts. Kenma pointed out that he literally worked as the software engineer for that company and could get it himself for a cheaper price if he merely asked for one, but made good use of the given device ever since. Kuroo held back the urge to chastise his friend that playing on his PSP during someone's wedding wasn't exactly the smartest decision - it's not like Kenma would pay much attention to the notice, anyway.

He quietly abandoned the court, his gaze unfocused as soothing rays of the maroon sunset splashed onto his paler skin. The summer breeze smelled of cicadas and gentle rain, with a hint of rubber from the gym. The former Nekoma player found it cute that some of the guests close to Bokuto and Akaashi actually took up the dare to wear their old uniforms instead of tuxedos. As a result, the "wedding hall" became a hilarious mixture of polite-looking gentlemen and rambunctious men in their twenties trying to look like high schoolers again. Of course, Kuroo and Kenma brushed the idea off their minds and attended the rather un-wedding-like wedding, but ones like Lev and Hinata decided otherwise (while forcing their boyfriends to do exactly the same, ahem, Kageyama and Yaku). 

 _I'm okay._ Kuroo mused, staring at the moist grass that was tickling the edge of his ankle.  _Somehow, I think I'm okay._ And really, he was. So far, nothing was going out of control, he wasn't feeling too moody or whatever, and he didn't feel like resorting to unfavorable methods either. It was a considerably positive sign. There was nothing he could do about the invisible void left in his chest - and to be blunt, Kuroo didn't really want to do anything about it. 

From a distance, Akaashi and Bokuto were conversing with other guests and past colleagues. Their parents were present as well, but nowhere to be seen. He wasn't sure why so many schools from Miyagi were here, with the exception of Karasuno that possessed a close connection with Fukurodani. For example, Aoba Johsai - why were they going around in the first place? Bokuto never told him anything about being friends with those from Seijoh during high school.

 _Well, that's kind of stupid. He doesn't need to tell me everything._ Turning on his heels, Kuroo briskly walked away towards the opposite direction. "I'm definitely over him, too." A heavy sigh escaped his lips.  _And he just got married. Like, what the fuck, me._

"You're definitely over who?"

Kuroo blinked. If he wasn't quite delusional yet, then that was, without a doubt, someone responding to his silent ranting.  _Shit._ He twisted his neck and bit down on his lip, imploring mentally to no one in particular to let this eavesdropper at least be a nice one. 

The owner of the voice had outstretched, chocolate-brown hair. He almost reminded Kuroo of a pomeranian pup - with his round eyes and everything. But his stature was well-built, and his shoulders were broad and rough. Also, if he were to add, he was one extremely attractive man. Said attractive man, was currently known as the only setter that could rival the skills of Kageyama Tobio, the rising star in the volleyball world. 

His name is Oikawa Tooru.

"... Uh." Awkward. This was beyond the levels of awkward. "Hi." He couldn't think of anything else to say besides a greeting a stranger-ish stranger he just met today. 

But Oikawa just flashed a killer smile (Kuroo was certain it caused many bloody deaths), and approached Kuroo. "Hi, Kuroo-kun. Lovely to make your acquaintance. Boku-chan tells me about you everyday." Oh, of course. Oikawa and Bokuto were both regulars on the Japanese National team - it was a given fact that they were friends and whatnot. Kuroo couldn't believe that he missed that. 

"Great." He responded briefly, still trying to match up the correct words to say to the said "Great King of Setters". Of course, Kuroo kept himself updated about the recent volleyball news and games and everything because many of his friends went for the real deal, the actual stage. Oikawa was still steadily improving, building his reputation as a monster worldwide. It was different from how he interpreted his existence in high school - he was practically meeting eye-to-eye with one of the hottest athletes in Japan. Oikawa Tooru was more popular than an E-rank celebrity.

"So," Oikawa placed a hand on his shoulder. "About that person you just got over, or something?"

 _For a beautiful face, he's pretty nosy._ "I don't think that's anything you should be meddling with." Coolly dusting off the topic, Kuroo unwrapped himself from the setter's grip. His hand was so different from Kenma's - even considering the fact that Kenma stopped playing long ago, the only hand of a setter Kuroo knew was Kenma's. Oikawa's fingers were long and slender, but powerful and definite. It was a fresh sensation. "Don't you have the spiker you're always with?"

"Oh, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa's charming smile drooped away at the mention of the other male. "He's just a big fat ass. He just- he  _betrayed me,_ you hear? I clearly said that I wanted the blue icing from the cake, not  _bubblegum pink,_ and that bastard still got that portion- ugh, it's a long story, but the usual. How about you? According to Bokuto, you and the shy one seem to be the item." 

"Oh, Kenma."  _'The Item?'_ "We're not a thing. Our relationship is completely platonic, inside out." 

The other man clucked his tongue. "Sorry about that. Half of my team were betting that you guys were homo for each other, so I just thought it'd be a good opportunity to see if I won." Kuroo frowned. "I betted on the 'not' side." Oikawa winked, his flamboyant smile back. 

"... Am I supposed to be thankful?" 

"That's up to you, really. Even if I ask you to be, you seem like the kind that'd give a halfhearted one." Oikawa shrugged, slumping down on the grass.  _So, why are we talking in the first place?_ Kuroo raised a inquiring brow, but didn't say another word. He disliked his peace being disrupted by someone less than an acquaintance, but more than a stranger. He didn't prefer ambiguity - it made him insecure. Right now, Oikawa Tooru seemed like the embodiment of extraordinary - a mystery. 

"Although, Kuroo-kun," Fisting a handful of grass, the brunette forcibly yanked the sprouts out of the ground. Kuroo wrinkled his nose -  _what a terrible personality._ "You're quite... different from what I was expecting."

 _From what I was expecting._ Those words rung like a siren inside Kuroo's head. His heart rate surged from the pits of his chest, and his teeth frantically chewed off the insides of his cheek.  _Calm down. You can't go berserk in the middle of some wedding. He doesn't mean anything. He's not referring to something specific. Calm down._ "I sincerely apologize if I was, well, phrasing it in another way, 'a disappointment compared to expectations'. I didn't have the intention to mislead you that way." His speech came out in a lot more violent manner than he had intended. A transparent appearance of shock and bewilderment spread over Oikawa's pretty face, as he heeded those words.  _There you go, unable to control yourself again. Again, again, again, again-_

"Sorry. It... it's not like that." To the black-haired male's confusion, Oikawa didn't avoid the topic. He didn't abandon his gaze. He was staring straight back at him, his eyes fixated and unmoving. "How to put this... Well, I didn't mean it in a way as in your overall appearance or attractiveness, anything in that area. On the contrary, I actually think that..." The setter trailed off, his the intensity of his stare dissipating somewhat and transformed into a... loose, softened look. Like a hard-on espresso to a creamy latte kind. "Great, now I'm offtrack. But really. I told you already that I heard about you from Boku-chan, right? He describes you like some childish kitten. Says 'bro' whenever he mentions your name, stuff like that. I was just imagining a guy that was more on Bokuto's wild train. I apologize if what I said was misleading, in which, it was - I really wasn't trying to offend you."

Kuroo relaxed a little - although, it wasn't the apology that caused it. "... No, it's fine. I'm sorry that I snapped at you." Oikawa beamed once more, his eyes hinted with relief. He proceeded to lie down on the field. Fukurodani's soccer field was right next to the volleyball court, so it was pretty convenient.  _I guess it doesn't hurt to sit down._ Dropping down next to Oikawa, the feline savored the wash of colors in the sky. The crowd's bustling and loud, poppy accompaniment blended in neatly with the comfortable atmosphere he was currently in - it had been quite a while ever since Kuroo ever felt at 'ease'. 

"Hey, Kuroo-kun." 

"Hm?"

"Bokuto said you're like a childish kitten, but I don't really think so."

"... Heh, then what am I?"

"A really pretty cat."

Albeit Kuroo being an expert at concealing his emotions after all these years,  _that_ kind of straightforwardness was something he was  _not_ accustomed to. Of course, he didn't go as far as to sputter, but his voice did crack when he made an attempt to retort. "I beg your pardon?"

"Wow, 'pardon'. That's something you don't hear often." Oikawa smirked, and literally, the word 'handsome' radiated off his skin. "I'll say it to you as how many times necessary for my message to get through. I think you're a really pretty cat." He practically enunciated every single syllable again, looking directly at Kuroo. 

 _I did hear rumors about how flirtatious Oikawa Tooru is, but I never heard things about him hitting on men._ "Look, if you're joking, it isn't as funny as you think it is."

"My fan girls tell me my jokes are funny, but unfortunately, I'm not joking."  _Unfortunately? What kind of definition for 'unfortunate' do you have?_ As skilled at acting Kuroo was, this whole combination of attacks was really challenging to take on. "Kuroo-kun, I'm quite serious here." A chill ran down Kuroo's spine as he witnessed the fleeting line of ferocity cross Oikawa's eyes. The chocolate shade, once flowing and passive, had warped into a foreign object much more furious and unconfined.

His unexpected savior was a few minutes too late for his rescue. 

"Shittykawa, what the hell are you doing here?" An equally tall man, still a tad bit shorter than Kuroo and Oikawa, with unbelievably spiky hair and sharp eyes forced Oikawa up by the back of his collar, almost choking the man in the process. Then he realized the presence of the old Nekoma's captain, and loosened his venomous gaze. "Hey. Uh..."

"It's Kuroo." The blackhead added helpfully, recognizing the other. "Kuroo Tetsurou, former captain of Nekoma."

"Right, Kuroo." Iwaizumi Hajime was the name of this man. He was better known as 'Iwa-chan' to schools outside the prefecture, but the person himself seemed to be unaware of that fact. "I'm sorry if this idiot disrupted your... your something. He's just insensitive that way."

"Insensitive-  _you,_ out of all people, don't have the right to label me-"

"No, it's totally fine." Interrupting Oikawa's irate protests, Kuroo smoothly replied to the apology. "I was thinking it's just about time to take my leave, anyway."

Iwaizumi nodded politely, completely ignoring his friend as he wobbled out of his devious grasp. "Then, we'll be going." He muttered some cusses at Oikawa who was slapping his back repeatedly.

"Kuroo-kun, I'll see you again!" The model-like athlete cried out as he vanished from the field, and said Kuroo didn't bide his farewell back.

* * *

  _Today is a bad day._

He instinctively felt it. No matter what kind of fortune rolled into his hands - whether he won the lottery, ate his favorite dish, met up with his closest circle of friends - today was bound to warp into a terrible day. After years of experience, Kuroo finally caught on with those instincts. 

It wasn't like there needed an absolute reason. It wasn't the kind of 'I'm going to trip on the staircase and bash my head into the floor', or 'I'm going to be horribly late for some kind of appointment' feeling. Those situations were related to luck, and not how he felt. The triggers didn't need to be physical, visible, audible, or even abstract. All Kuroo was aware of was that there were always 'triggers' that worsened this mood - a mood he didn't know how it even sprouted to be. 

This... sensation, per say, will never be something Kuroo will ever get used to. The kind where you feel like a massive weight is placed both outside and inside your system, pushing you closer to the ground, making you wonder if there's even a point in getting up in the first place. At first a wave of agony would wash past him, squeezing his internal organs messing with all his senses until he felt utterly numb - just a resonating numbness, and nothing else at all. He was overwhelmed by an illusion that he was trapped in a cage, never to be let out, not knowing the reason behind this confinement, unable to see, feel, taste, or simply take any action to escape. It was almost as if he lost the will to get out as whole. He could hear voices.

_("They're not going to appreciate you, even if you become free.")_

_("Isn't that the exact identical circumstance as being locked up?")_

_("You know it's too late to change. In the end, everyone's going to stop trying - stop trying to get you out of here.")_

_("What's the point if you lost the willpower anyway?")_

_("Look at Kenma. Even he stopped trying the keys to your cage.")_

_("You pity yourself. Because Kenma wasn't the key - because nobody was the key -")_

_("Not even Bokuto-")_

" **Stop.** " 

Kuroo's breath trembled, as he shouted the order to nobody in particular. After all these years, this hellish time, after living with this demonic beast that dwelled within his head, he couldn't chase it out completely. He never imagined that he would be able to. He tried, anyway. But all efforts were rendered futile, and eventually he began giving in. When he thought about it carefully, it was painfully obvious to him as well. The Voice merely stated truths that he had already analyzed himself, and was just informing Kuroo of them once more. 

His team had tried to help - or at least, some that he hesitantly shared with. Yaku and Kenma were their names. And they had become immense pillars of support to him until he graduated high school. He had stopped hurting himself, whether that was physical or mental. The Voice's visits became less and less, and Kuroo had seen a ray of hope shine his direction. 

But that too, passed over like a shooting star. Bright, beautiful, but so rapid and gone from sight in a second. 

They all traveled in separate paths, and everyone that he once knew of journeyed further and further away from where Kuroo's time had froze. 

That's when it all became raw, and awfully clear to him - that there was absolutely nothing that could be done to change this.

He went through therapy, took the medicinal pills that were supposed to help, at least momentarily, and read books about people with similar symptoms. While studying the piles of books and reading articles, Kuroo took note of a major difference between those people and him - they had the courage to reach out to someone, and Kuroo didn't. 

In the end, he did nothing to change. 

He just constructed an intricate facade that was capable of deceiving his surroundings - that he was perfectly normal, that he was moving on in life just like other people, so that he didn't attract unnecessary attention and pitying looks of other people. Frankly, he was exhausted from the extensive amount of care other people put into him - he knew they were just trying to assist him through this never ending phase, but to be honest, they were wasting their time. He didn't feel any better after any treatment anymore, and he didn't want to feel indebted to those that were helping. 

Because really, everything in life just became a lump of nothingness. He had already come to terms with the situation, and also with the fact that he'd have to live with it his whole life. 

And he was fine with that.

When he turned on the TV, they were broadcasting a new park that featured some interesting technology that were friendly to people of all ages.  _Now that I think of it, I don't go out during weekends nowadays, don't I?_ Apart from when he had to go to work, Kuroo never exited the house as much as he did before. He never came to notice when his extrovert nature had transformed into a hardcore introvert one, but it happened at some point and he didn't care. At least in high school and university he was on the volleyball team as a regular so that provided a legitimate reason to keep up his fit status, but now just working as a civil engineer in a normal company didn't obligate him to do such workouts. 

 _It shouldn't hurt to just walk around._ But then again, today's a bad day. There was no guarantee that he was going to feel any better than now - and in fact, observing his surroundings often worsened the situation than enhance it. He preferred solitude over crowds - hell, even two is a crowd. 

But then he remembered his empty fridge, and sighed.  _That leaves me with no choice, then._ Standing up with a low grunt evading his mouth, Kuroo lightly hit his back with his fist. "Milk, rice, some vegetables, fruits, meat..." Mumbling off the list aloud, he pulled on a dark blue polo-shirt and a thin white cardigan for his top and some old jeans. With his eyesight catapulting down each day, he couldn't help but wear his glasses every time he stepped outdoors. 

On the playground were some kids from the neighborhood. Kuroo could recognize a few that lived in his apartment, as well as their parents. 

Parents.

That left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

 _Ignore it. You're making it worse voluntarily by doing so._ "Supermarket, supermarket..." He whispered, shooing the scenery beside him.

When he reached the air-conditioned building, he finally let out a sigh as his nerves toned down. This was a terrible thought after all. He could've just ordered some takeout-Chinese food from a place nearby, and buy the groceries when he didn't feel like he was mushed up in a ditch. Massaging his temples with arising agitation, he grabbed a black plastic basket from a neatly stacked up pile and rushed past the chattering families and doting newly weds, as well as children in the toy section all holding some weird balloons. He despised cramped spaces - another disturbing quirk he developed over the years. 

 _Visit dairy section, then make a short detour for the vegetable and meat aisles through the most loosely populated areas._ "Sounds like a plan." Inhaling a decisive breath, Kuroo increased his pace through the milling crowd and made way for the dairy section, his first destination. All he needed was to snatch some yogurt and milk, and he was finished. Simple as that.

But once again, like every bad day, Fate reminded him that plans were meant to be breached. 

"Oikawa, isn't that the guy you were flirting with during Bokuto's wedding?" 

"'Flirting'? Please, I was maintaing my social life unlike you hermits."

"Last time I checked, maintaining a social life doesn't include calling strangers pretty like a pedophile." 

"We're the fucking same age, how the hell is that pedophilia-"

 _Shit._ Kuroo was quicker than when he received Hinata and Kageyama's freak quicks in high school to turn around and walk down the aisle. He could easily name Oikawa and Iwaizumi that always stuck to one another like magnets, but the other two - one with pink hair that almost looked out of this world, and the other with a horribly done haircut with a rather intimidating expression stood next to them, making faces at Oikawa. 

Myriads of questions crashed into Kuroo's head -  _Don't they live in Miyagi? Why are they here? And why today, out of all days they could've come all together? Is Japan really that much of a packed country? You've seriously got to be kidding me. Okay, even they shouldn't be that stupid to just call me out in such a public place-_

"Hey, Kuro-san!" 

"It's Kuro _o_. Like Aka _a_ shi, not Akashi. That's a different anime." 

"Oh, stop breaking the walls, you."

 _Okay, miscalculation. They are that stupid._ Kuroo closed his eyes, exasperated. His glasses felt unnaturally tight around his temples, as he wished that a wormhole would just form beneath his feet so that he could be thrown out of this galaxy. He speculated whether he could just casually skip out like a girl from the supermarket and act as if he couldn't hear anything. It might work out brilliantly, if they weren't shrewd enough to notice that he disappeared-

"Hey, Kuroo-kun?" A hand tapped his back with a playful flair.

 _Great, mission fail._ He rolled his eyes as he turned back around, his basket hitting his leg. "Hello." The one thing that never seemed to differ for Oikawa Tooru, was his perpetual hotness in any circumstance. Kuroo tried to remember the last time he ever thought someone was attractive in a supermarket. Apparently, Oikawa was that kind of man. 

The out-of-this-world-pink dude grinned at him. "So you're  _the_ Kuroo Tetsurou." The former middle blocker tried to interpret the meaning behind the emphasized 'the' before his full name. 

"Yes, I am. Never knew I got so famous over these past few years." 

Mr. I-Have-Thick-Ass-Eyebrows snorted. "Famous, you say it. Ever since Bokuto started showing pictures of you around the campus, some gay- guys, I mean, are dying to see you. Oh, but I'm not one of them. I only need one idiot in my life like that." He stretched out his right hand, and Kuroo took the message as to greet him. "My name is Matsukawa Issei. This pink-haired one is Hanamaki Takahiro. Oh, and everyone calls us Makki and Mattsun but that's not our real names."

 _They sound more promising that they appear to be._ "I'll take note of that,  _Mattsun-san._ " Matsukawa made a funny face at that new nickname.

"It's weird when you add honorifics."

"Exactly why I did it." Kuroo smiled - he reminisced the times he teased around with players from other schools with their names. "You announced it for the world to know, but my name is Kuroo Tetsurou. Kuro with an extra 'o', but to be honest, even my co-workers mess it up so it's fine whatever you call me. I know it's a funky name." 

Hanamaki laughed heartily - it felt odd, because they met merely 5 minutes ago. "So, you're out shopping by yourself?"

He winced a little when the pink-haired man mentioned his singular status. But it was true, so there really wasn't any offense hidden in the question. "Yeah, pretty much. I live alone, so I don't have an alternative."

"That's not too different from Oikawa and I." Iwaizumi, for the first time since they met up, had spoken. "Hanamaki and Matsukawa live together, and Oikawa and I had gone independent ever since we left Miyagi. In case you haven't noticed, Hanamaki and Matsukawa are super gay for each other." He added, as Oikawa snickered next to him. 

Funny thing, Kuroo had noticed that. It wasn't like it was his first time seeing some gay couples from high school volleyball teams. He could name off a list from literally every single team, not to mention that the whole fucking Karasuno team was somehow all into each other, even with that libero and bald guy that drooled over their sexy manager. It didn't take a genius to realize that eventually, even the managers hooked up and none of them qualified as straight anymore. Heck, there were rumors that even  _that_ Ushijima Wakatoshi from Shiratorizawa was dating the old freaky middle blocker from their previous team. 

Once again, the fading images of his parents became solid in his head. 

_("That's disgusting.")_

_("What have we ever done to deserve this treatment from you, Tetsurou?")_

_("If we disown you, maybe that'd change your mind.")_

_("I'm embarrassed to call you our son.")_

_("I didn't raise a mentally ill child.")_

_("Get out, Tetsurou.")_

_("And don't you ever come back.")_

"... san?"

"Kuroo-san?"

He gasped and a agonizingly piercing intake of cold air ripped through his body. Every breath he inhaled and exhaled shook with crazy waves, and an incessant beeping noise reverberated through his ears, drowning out the foreign noise from wherever he was. He couldn't tell whether he was slouched over the floor, standing, lying down - he was slowly stripped away from reality. Barely fumbling for his final pieces of sanity, Kuroo struggled to regain consciousness.  _Make it stop._ It wasn't like this whole situation was new - but every time it occurred, it almost felt like he'd never be able to escape. And maybe, just maybe, this time his fears would be confirmed to be the truth.  _Just make it stop-_

_Someone-_

His eyelids fluttered open as he felt something freezing cold pressed to his cheek. He was sprawled over the floor, and even had a whispering audience that held faces scrunched with concern. At least, he was still in the super market. But the person that was crouched down in front of him - that was the most unexpected factor of his discovery. 

Oikawa Tooru, his immature persona evaporated to dust, was holding up a chilled milk bottle to Kuroo's cheek, his eyebrows furrowed and worried wrinkles formed between his chocolate eyes. His perky lips that seemed to create the dreamiest smiles were now twisted into a dissatisfied frown, and he had his other hand on Kuroo's tense left arm. 

One man muttered something around the lines of 'he must be out of his mind', which finally brought back the male to Earth - but his realization was interjected by an angry growl from Hanamaki.

"There's nothing to look at over here, you asshole." The man's chance to argue was lost when Matsukawa sent him a meaningful glare that could only mean 'fuck off' in the quietest manner possible. 

Neither Oikawa nor Kuroo said anything for a while after that, even though it was clear to everyone that Kuroo was normal, or something like that. 

"Um, you can remove the milk bottle." The raven murmured below hearing level, but Oikawa received the message. He silently lowered his hands, but didn't stand up.  _How am I supposed to react when this happens?_ It never happened before, so really, he was an amateur. "Sorry if I... lost you. It's become common nowadays, no worries. Thanks for... helping. It wasn't necessary."

For some unknown cause, Oikawa didn't look satisfied in the slightest by his clarification. " _'Common'? 'Wasn't necessary'?_ " His agitation seemed to flare as he spat those words like they were the most despicable pieces of rubbish he had ever seen. Matsukawa placed a warning hand on his friend's shoulder, throwing Kuroo a glance. Oikawa bit his bottom lip at that, and breathed out something that sounded closer to a growl than a sigh. "I don't know why panic attacks in supermarkets are something 'common', following your language, but however you've been dealing with it, or however other people had been helping you through them - none of them are doing their job right." 

Kuroo was really lost at how to reply. All he could manage was a small, "... Oh."

The setter looked like he had a lot he wanted to say, but his expression softened. "I think we should stand up now. We're gathering attention - and I have a hunch that you're not entirely comfortable with crowds."

 _I wonder if I'm that easy to read._ Kuroo mused. "You got that right."

And really, this was the rather sloppy beginning of Kuroo and Oikawa's silly list.


	2. Because You're Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first reason why Oikawa Tooru loves Kuroo Tetsurou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support, guys! I never knew I was going to receive that much praise just from the first chapter! I hope you enjoy this sloppy second chapter for 'A Reason for you Everyday, My Cat'!

“So, how did it go after that?”

One final slurp was heard until the beverage once contained was done for.

“Oh,” Oikawa put down his piping hot mug of his second cappuccino. “I told him that I could walk him home, but he insisted that he’d go by himself. But you know how he looked –“ 

“Disastrous.” 

“Exactly- well, that’s a bit of a stretch. But he looked sick, and pale and all. So I gave him my LINE ID and told him to text me when he arrived.” 

Hanamaki hummed in approval. “And he did?” 

“Yeah. He told me it was a 7-minute walk, and it did take him about 8 minutes to contact me, so I supposed he was telling the truth.” 

Scrunching up his nose, Iwaizumi made a face. “You were _counting_?” 

“Wouldn’t you at least be concerned enough to do so when your potential new love interest appears to be closer to his deathbed than he should be?” Oikawa contended to his defense, which resulted in a exasperated group of friends mumbling ‘gay’. “No, but really. That’s not… healthy. Mentally, rather than physically.” 

“Well, he did look a little fucked up when we talked to him before he started hyperventilating anyway.” Placing his head on Hanamaki’s shoulder, Matsukawa proceeded to scroll down his newsfeed while joining in on the conversation. “I’m not against you crushing on him and all, but just don’t approach him the wrong way, Oikawa. You don’t need a psychology expert to figure out that he has some things going on that shouldn’t be taken lightly.” 

The renowned flirt’s jerky smile turned down like a switch of some sort at the mention of his ‘potential love interest’s’ problem. It wasn’t like Oikawa didn’t notice the rather obvious mental factor of Kuroo – it didn’t take an observation connoisseur to analyze Kuroo’s mental illness. Or rather, a ‘trauma’, Oikawa assumed. He wasn’t at the level of sympathy yet, but the event at the supermarket the previous day got pretty close to it. 

After a few disheartening seconds, he finally replied, “… I know. I’m not well, _that_ into him yet, you know. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to hurt him. I have no first-hand experience with those… situations, after all.” 

“I’m kind of taken aback, though.” Hanamaki ruffled his boyfriend’s messy hair that was tickling his cheek. “Of course, it was my first time meeting him in person, but from what I heard amongst common rumors during high school was about the crazy mentality Nekoma’s captain held, stuff like that. The ‘hard to break, easy to be broken by’ types.” The others seemed to agree to that commentary. 

According to rumors that used to be afloat in the high school universe of volleyball, was that a man named Kuroo Tetsurou was like an invisible ‘Iron Wall’ – intimidating, aware – when you think you’ve escaped, you’re actually trapped within his radar of defense. The epitome of a perfect read-blocker, and the backbone of Nekoma’s power. Many professional players that went major claimed that Nekoma was to be considered a powerhouse, and the one that became the arteries and veins of the team was nobody other than Kuroo. And really, his existence proved the rumors to be painfully true to their meaning after any audience witnessed his plays. 

Naturally, Oikawa was one of them. 

Albeit being situated in separate prefectures and even walking differing paths in life, the setter had plenty of opportunities prior to their actual encounter to get to know a human being called ‘Kuroo Tetsurou’. He believed it to be a great shame that he never got to play against him even once, but that couldn’t be helped at this point in time. Putting that aside, it was none other than Bokuto Koutarou that introduced him to Kuroo. 

Bokuto truly treated Kuroo in his phone as the embodiment of perfection. Humorous, wily, graceful, shrewd, and- 

This was totally Oikawa’s personal opinion, but to Tooru, 

Tetsurou was beauty itself. 

It was approximately around two months ago from now, when Bokuto decided it was an excellent idea to display an old video of Fukurodani versus Nekoma’s national game, from when they were all seniors. Oikawa didn’t really want to watch it, due to their bitter defeat against Karasuno, and just out of ugly envy because it was a stage he never got to shine. 

But he never regretted that day, seated in the gigantic gym with his teammates, huddled around Bokuto’s laptop.

 He was absolutely mesmerized. Oikawa believed that if he had never been addicted to something before, he sure now was. Kuroo’s exquisite form before he entered a spike motion, the flow of his hair as he landed on the ground, the slightly exposed skin when his shirt was a little driven up amidst the wild match, and the sly grin he threw his opponents whenever a block was ideally matched against the attack- 

 _God,_ he is _beautiful._

Certainly, the adjective ‘beautiful’ was something used more than often to describe Oikawa online. But the odd thing about beauty is that you never realize what it truly looks like in living form unless you witness one yourself. 

For a twenty-something-year-old Oikawa, the word struck him like lightning when he met Kuroo Tetsurou over a screen. 

“Don’t people normally label that as ‘love at first sight’?” Matsukawa snickered, his phone now in his pocket. “Not that I don’t understand at all what you’re talking about. I relate, man.” 

“Nah, that’s definitely an exaggeration, Shittykawa.” 

“Iwa-chan, how _rude._ Both for Kuroo-kun and I.” 

Hanamaki looked at his friends back and forth, and then opened his mouth. “Didn’t you guys feel something like that when you dated each other? I sometimes forget that you guys were an item at all in the first place.”

“I mean,” Oikawa paused at that. It was true that he and Iwaizumi went out for about three months before high school graduation. Half of it was because of how everyone seemed to see them as a thing already, and the other half was just because they were hormonal bisexual teenagers and were like, ‘Eh, why not give it a try’ that ended up in a horrible fashion. It didn’t take a genius to realize that they were better off as childhood friends than a couple. “Sure, I may have loved Iwa-chan or not at some point when we fucked –“

“Information overload, Oikawa, oh my god.” The pink head grunted, and Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. They were all cool about it, and came to a conclusion that neither party was at fault for how the relationship unfolded – it was their immaturity that brought upon the given results, and they were quick to return to their old bickering again. 

“… But it was like, a _twinkle,_ if you get what I mean. Like a one night stand extended. The ‘you feel what you feel and get over’ type of relationships. I think it was all the same for the girls I dated in high school. It’s the first time I felt about somebody this way.” 

Oikawa’s said “ex-boyfriend” nodded, both of them assenting for once. “Yeah, I agree. We were just retarded that way.” 

Silence washed over the four males seated in the café, as they did nothing to bring another topic to light. It was Oikawa that broke the ice with a random question: 

“But really. Don’t you think bedheads can be pretty hot?” 

“Oh my fucking god, Oikawa.” 

 

* * *

 

 

_Blink._

**[Oikawa Tooru: hey hey Kuroo-kun]**

Kuroo was plunged into a… refreshing sort of dilemma.

 Imagine that you ran into some hot celebrity person one day, then another day you met again they ask you to exchange messenger IDs, and then a few days after that the person texts you every day with nothing important at all.

 That was the exact kind of situation Kuroo was facing. It may have not mattered as much if he met Oikawa in some match before in high school or even university. But now they were set in such opposite locations – and yet, Oikawa still approached him like they had been buddies since forever. And this was utterly refreshing, since the black-haired man cut off nearly all contact with his Nekoma members as well. The last time he talked to any of his high school mates was three weeks ago, and that was counting a Candy Crush invitation from Lev.

  **[Me: Hey]**

**[Oikawa Tooru: did u hear tht this new movie is coming out like omg]**

Their conversations lasted anywhere from a range of thirty minutes to six hours. Kuroo had to admit – Oikawa and him were polar opposites, when it came to tastes for music, fashion, food, movies, and just about everything – but that’s what made their talks so lengthy and worthwhile. The whole point of their conversations was to argue about which movie was better, and which artist sucked. In the end, they’d give the suggestions a try, and come to a decision that their tastes were equally matched. The civil engineer personally enjoyed Oikawa’s movie recommendations, although they were mostly sci-fi or sappy romance ones.

It had suddenly become a newly developed habit of Kuroo to check his phone as soon as his work ended at 5 in the afternoon, and as if to greet him, Oikawa always had some new updates to announce, like a new song that was really good, or to tell Kuroo about how he watched the movie the black head told him.

 In a crude way of putting it, it was almost like how a boy and girl interacted in middle school – all excited and giddy over text, but never meeting in real life.

 But Kuroo was more comfortable with it that way. Ever since his last panic attack at the supermarket, which was about a month ago now, he had reprimanded himself that he was the biggest fucking idiot if he went out voluntarily on another bad day.

 Rolling over on his couch, the cat typed his reply back lazily.

  **[Me: You mean the pretty romance-ish friendship one you’ve been waiting for since March?]**

**[Oikawa Tooru: omg omg yes tht one]**

A few perks Kuroo noticed about Oikawa: he does not bother to capitalize his words, he doesn’t care if a word is abbreviated to nonsense as long as he understands what he types, punctuation and grammar are foreign existences online, and he loved to chat like high school girl in love.

 Not that he hated it. In fact, he thought it was pretty cu-

 … _No. Just no._

**[Me: So, you’re going to watch it?]**

**[Oikawa Tooru: Yeah, bt my frnds r aholes soooo I dun hv sm1 to watch it w/]**

Kuroo hoped this wasn’t going where it he thought it was, because if so, then-

  **[Oikawa Tooru: So Kuroo-kun, if you’re free, let’s go watch it together.]**

 _Then I can’t refuse._ He groaned into his pillow, dropping his phone on the floor. One perk he did despise about Oikawa’s texts – he was suddenly a grammar prodigy when he asked for something. And really, Oikawa made it extremely challenging to turn down his request just by being Oikawa Tooru. It was hard to explain, but it worked that way.

  **[Me: What time?]**

**[Oikawa Tooru: Tomorrow, 2 P.M. Tokyo Mall at Starbucks]**

**[Me: Alright.]**

Kuroo wondered how long it had been since the last time he made a promise to privately meet up with a designated someone during his free time. The memory itself was too vague to even recall, but it would’ve probably been either Kenma or Yaku, without a doubt. The wedding was around one and a half months ago, but since that was more of a social gathering than a friendly meeting, it didn’t actually count. And even then, the last person he talked to was Oikawa, excluding Kenma that returned home with him.

  _I have a feeling that it’s not just me, that I’m becoming alarmingly involved in Oikawa’s life – or the other way around._ He sat up, and attempted to design a good appearance to wear for tomorrow. It had also been a relatively long period since he had ever put thought into his casual attire (for the wedding, he had just thrown on some random suit he rammed in his closet long ago) for someone. Kuroo’s ears burned at the thought. _This isn’t a fucking date, for Christ’s sake. We’re just… friends?_

_(“What, are you actually getting your hopes up?”)_

_(“What a fucking joke.”)_

It felt as if cold water had been splashed over his head, as Kuroo gradually woken up from his trance again. He bit his bottom lip, and dragged himself to examine his wardrobe. It didn’t contain anything fresh and new – just some jeans and formal dress pants and T-shirts to polo shirts. _Maybe I could ask for some assistance on this one._ But then again, that would look a little dumb. Like, who actually asked for help on what to freaking wear when you were just going to watch a movie with a “friend”? He dismissed the idea as fast as it arrived, and decided to delay his decision until the time actually came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

… The time came a lot faster than he predicted.

 Kuroo considered himself more or less a punctual person. He disliked being late or marked as tardy for appointments, and if he ever was really late for anything, then it was usually because he was being held back by Kenma that sluggishly mumbled, “5 minutes hardly makes a difference”. Not that Kuroo disagreed with him – just that first impressions and punctuality often aligned together.

  _Just meeting a friend. Or at least, I think we’re friends._ He pinched the bridge of his nose. It had been such a long time since he had met someone, that he was even growing dense about his relationship status with new people. What a fucking disappointment.

 In the end, his final choice wasn’t too satisfactory, but a passing grade. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt that for some reason was printed with random names of cities, accompanied by some gray torn jeans he bought centuries ago. Just in case the cinema got cold, he tied his cardigan from the other day around his waist, and argued whether to put on his glasses or not – but he didn’t want to squint at the screen the whole time, so he shrugged and slipped them on.

 Checking if the lights were off, he left his apartment with lazy strides. Tokyo Mall was roughly a 15-minute walk from his place, and he had around twenty-five minutes left until their promised hour. Plenty of time to spare.

  _I wonder if I locked the door._ He thought to himself, muttering an apology to a bulky man he bumped into. _What if I actually left the air conditioner on or something?_ It never happened before, but it was possible. _What if I look fucking lame right now?_ Unfortunately, sidewalks of his neighborhood didn’t have random mirrors everywhere. _Shit, maybe I should’ve checked with Kenma or something._ But he already left his house. _It’s not like I look smokin’ hot in the first place._

_(“Are you actually getting your hopes up again?”)_

_(“Fuck, Tetsurou, if people wore price tags, you’d be in the fucking negatives.”)_

“Just a friend.” He whispered subconsciously, as he waited for the signal to change to green. “Or social associates.” _I’m not getting my hopes up. Really, I can’t possibly match Oikawa Tooru. Our leagues are too different._ Oikawa was building a reputation as a living legend of the Japanese athletics community. His talent and sense was almost unmatched as a player, a setter, and a leader. Although the National team itself possessed monstrous powers, Oikawa had the sheer ability to purge the best out of everyone.

 And Kuroo?

 He was just like any other person out there.

  _(“And even that’s too much of a praise.”)_

When he looked up, he was in front of Tokyo Mall. _Starbucks._ He reminded himself of their meeting spot again, for about the sixth time of the day. He still had a whole seven minutes – and if he had to be brutally honest, Oikawa didn’t really look like the early bird kind of person.

 “Your order, sir?”

 “Black, ice, please.”

 Handing over his bill to the cashier, Kuroo plopped down on a leather sofa nearby the window. His coffee was out within two minutes, and he bit down on his straw, staring at bustling people on the streets. There were couples everywhere – and that was pretty normal, for this area. Everyone appeared to be so happy and shiny, loved and loving, blessed and a blessing to someone else.

 Solitude summarized Kuroo’s life, but he couldn’t say he didn’t envy those people. His heart would clench tight, his respiratory organs stopped all functions, his eyes fixated on that blinding brightness, but not able to look away – and he’d just choke a painful breath of the stale air, tears stinging the corner of his eyes, as he coughed and wheezed, doubled over. He’d dig his nails into his skin, and try to picture a future – a future just like that, happy and sunshine with his imaginary significant other – but he was always alone. Nothing was happy, nothing was bright, nothing was blessed, and he wasn’t loved.

 Alone – it was such a terrifying word. No – terrifying didn’t cut it. It was deserted, bleak, empty – no word would ever be enough to explain the true meaning of being alone. It was like being a single white dot on a large black sheet of paper, and then slowly being overwhelmed by the darkness until there was no white at all. You just submerged with the black, losing people, losing sanity, and losing yourself.

 

_(“Filth.”)_

_(“Doesn’t it get tiring to even live? When you have no worth, I mean.”)_

_(“Are you even living for a purpose?”)_

_(“A purpose to die?”)_

_Death._ It was all around him. If he just left this café, and threw himself on the road, a random vehicle would collide into him and he’d be gone for good. If he just climbed up to the top of the mall and jumped off, his body would crumble on the cemented ground and he’d be gone for good. If _only_ -

 “Hey, Kuroo-kun.”

 His speculations were politely cut off by the interference of an intruding voice.

 “Sorry, I got caught up in the traffic. I hope you didn’t wait for too long- or did you? Your face is literally blotched with exhaustion – are you getting enough sleep?” Oikawa smiled down at him, holding a plastic cup of milk tea in his right hand. “Obviously not, judging from your selection of coffee. I’m pretty sure that’s a caffeine overload. Seriously, black? Kuroo-kun, your taste buds are depressing.” He was joking – what Kuroo discovered to be Oikawa’s default conversation starter.

 “I’m not a huge fan of dairy products. Or tea.” He examined the athlete head to toe – he was wearing a nice long-sleeved shirt that was slightly big for him, the top half black and the bottom half white. His pants were the blue-gray medium kind, and a red bag pack slung over one shoulder – it was a stylish touch to the bland colors of his clothes.

 To sum it up, Oikawa was once again, inhumanely hot.

 And suddenly, his carefully locked away insecurity tipped open. _My hair must be a real joke. Torn jeans? I should’ve just gone with something plain. And really, shirts with random city names? I mean, I probably look like a dreadful business. And god, those girls are **staring**. _

 But whether it was out of ignorance or blind enthusiasm, Oikawa didn’t seem to notice. “You’re not a fan of dairy products? What the hell, that’s literally blasphemy in its truest form.”

 “Isn’t blasphemy usually indicated towards religious material?”

 “Dairy products _are_ religious.” The handsome man said pointedly, and jutted his chin at the entrance of the mall. “The movie’s going to start soon – coming or no?” His smile was flashy as ever, even after the interim of little more than a month since the wedding. Kuroo threw a wary glimpse at the horde of girls that seemed to be increasing exponentially both outside and inside the café.

 Reluctant to rise to his feet, Kuroo placed the shop’s cup on the table and lowered his voice. “You seem to be pretty popular.” _I mean, of course he is. Who am I talking to?_ In fact, he was more than certain that some were actually beginning to recognize the athlete.

 “Oh, of course I am. Who do you think you’re talking to?” Oikawa laughed a flirtatious one, one that crushed down all humility of a human being. “I tried putting on a handy disguise before, but none of them worked. My fans have sharp eyes, those adorable girls.”

 The black-haired man stood up, snorting. “Pedophilia is a mental illness, Mr. Sinful Smile.”

 “Excuse me, I’m hurt.” Acting all damsel-in-distress-y, the other flopped to the floor, as they both stepped out of Starbucks. “And oh my god, did you just call me Mr. Sinful Smile? My smile is a _blessing._ ”

 “You should educate yourself to appreciate alliteration as much as you treasure your soul.” Kuroo shook his head comically, his one-sided bangs swaying back and forth in the process. He loosened up a little, the hard stares of his surroundings gradually toning out and blending with the mall’s atmosphere. He was outside with someone, to enjoy himself and watch a movie.

_(“Depression Recovery Methods: Number 10, ‘Try having fun’.”)_

Their childish quarrel continued until they reached the ticketing window on the top floor. Albeit their movie already had been selected for the day, Oikawa reprimanded him by saying it was only natural to scan all the options laid out for them. In which, Kuroo couldn’t see the point of, as they were going to watch the same movie anyway.

There was a new movie for this detective anime, a patriotic story about a general, and a few other lame others along with a movie about a talking doll.

“Anything good?” Handing him a ticket, the chocolate-shade male leaned into Kuroo and smiled, observing the list for himself. “Guess not. Wanna go buy some popcorn?”

Kuroo made an affirmative hum, as Oikawa dragged him past the crowd of people. The feline tried to recall the last time he came to the cinema to actually watch a movie. High school? Right, on their graduation day, Nekoma and Fukurodani met up and had a farewell party. During his 4 years as a uni student, he did receive some invitations but never bothered.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to remember his favorite flavor of popcorn.

“One caramel, and a coke please. Not diet.” Oikawa put in his order, and glanced expectantly at Kuroo. “You, Kuroo-kun?”

The black head blinked, his fingers curling inward in his pockets. He felt oddly cornered as the person working part-time at the cashier waited for him with a cross, impatient look, with the unbearably long cue of people behind his back. “… Uh, I’m fine. Maybe just water.”

“What? C’mon, your taste buds cannot be _that_ depressing.” The setter sent him an incredulous frown, seeming unperturbed by the part-timer or the snake-like cue behind them. “Get butter, and sprite or something. No, you know what? You should do that. It kind of gets bland with just sweet things, you get what I mean? I’ll pay.”

No, Kuroo didn’t. “… Sure. And thanks, but I’ll pay.” He shoved his hand into his wallet and pulled out a few notes, as Oikawa grinned delightedly and passed them on. The part-time boy tipped his cap and told them to wait a few minutes, as another girl took his place and received the next order.

“Do you not like popcorn, Kuroo-kun?” Oikawa asked curiously, as they waited by the sidelines for their assortment of snacks and drinks.

“I don’t know. It’s been a few years since I last tried them. I think I never really had much of an opinion about it.” Normally, he would’ve just brushed the question off with any answer that came to mind at that moment – but for some reason, he didn’t want to do that with Oikawa. Maybe the virtuous radiance of the male was beginning to rub off, or something.

Oikawa scoffed, as he got his share of caramel popcorn and coke. “Well, we need to change that.”

Kuroo stifled a chuckle as he tucked in the bucket of buttery popcorn under one arm, holding his sprite in the other hand. It had also been a considerably long time since he felt at ease with someone. Maybe he was improving – or maybe it was the Oikawa effect.

They entered the chilly theatre and struggled to locate their assigned seats in the dark. Oikawa slid in some degrading comments towards the commercials, pointing out every single photoshopped model in the aesthetics ones, and how their curves were ridiculous. Kuroo would respond to some of them every now and then – even snicker at how crude the former was with his words. 

“And look at that _hair_. I swear, I tried that shampoo and my hair didn’t cascade down my back like the fucking Niagara Falls.”

“Your hair doesn’t even reach your back.”

“Unimportant details, Kuroo-kun. Nobody’s hair can ever look that perfect after a workout.”

 _Sounds like a sort of joke coming from you, but I’ll take it._ “I can testify for that. Although – I’ve been living with a perpetual bedhead, so I can’t say.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that like?”

Before he fell into his personal wormhole of pity and emptiness, Kuroo used to believe that his bedhead was pretty cool. He became the center of attention the moment people figured out it wasn’t set for two hours or anything with wax. But for the past few years, he felt nothing but frustration towards his horrific hairstyle. It was unfixable. No matter what he did, it was just there, and-

He abhorred it.

“It’s… fine.” Swallowing all the possible negative adjectives that popped up in his mind, Kuroo settled for a flavorless term. Oikawa was just someone he knew. Out of everyone he met during his span of twenty-something years, he just happened to be one of them, and just coincidentally got close with him due to an inconsequential reason. And Kuroo had no intentions of stepping out of his margin, or letting Oikawa into his small world that barely had enough space for himself.

“Yeah?” The lights were dim, and the bespectacled male could only see Oikawa’s flickering expression from the corner of his eye. “I think it looks pretty nice.”

His jaw clenched, and Kuroo let out a strained reply. “… R-right.” He stuttered, despite it being one word. Just one damned word. The movie had already started about three minutes ago, but he wasn’t paying attention. His vision became cloudy, although he was wearing glasses. The fabric of his shoes tightened at the stretch as his toes curled inward, trying to provide the body some strength as Kuroo tried to steady his nervous breathing. He was here to enjoy himself. It was utterly pathetic to trip and tumble over every single remark made about his appearance, about every single person that seemed to send him a skeptical glance.

It was just an insecurity to hide, just a past to get over, and just a broken heart to recover. It was as simple as that.

As simple as that.

_“Just try to be happy.”_

_I would’ve done that long ago if I could._

_“Just accept yourself as who you are.”_

_I can’t – would you be able to accept yourself as whom you are when you have a price tag in the negatives?_

_“Just get over him – he’s just a person.”_

_Just a person? He was my everything. He was all I had._

_“Just try to love yourself.”_

_How am I supposed to love myself when there is nothing to love?_

“Hey, Kuroo-kun." 

A gentle hand touched his wrist, a sudden sensation of warmth circulating through his veins. Oikawa wasn’t looking at the screen – had he looked at all? Kuroo had no idea how long he had spaced out again, and he barely watched anything of the movie. 

“Are you actually even paying attention to film?” The setter’s voice was soft, and his hand was still there.

Kuroo would’ve said yes. He would’ve made something up, trying to piece the scenes he caught a mere glimpse of despite not knowing any of the character’s names. He would’ve smiled a fake smile, like he always did with others. He would’ve worn his usual façade, trying to assure that he was okay, that he was like any other person, that he was confident, that he was perfectly normal.

That he wasn’t so broken.

But Oikawa’s expression was so soft, so caring, so mellow, so irresistibly _endearing,_ that all the male could do was give in.

“… No. Sorry.”

“That’s fine.” He wasn’t too quick, or too slow to answer. “There’s nothing for you to apologize about.” Then for a few seconds, he didn’t say anything. Kuroo expected him to resume to the movie, let go his wrist, something like that. Because everytime something like this occurred, that was the norm.

But for the first time, someone that was extraordinary enough to shatter the norm appeared.

“Let’s get out of here.” There was no hesitation whatsoever in Oikawa’s voice as the grip on his wrist confirmed his determination.

“But the movie –“

“I’ll download it online or something. It’s just some movie – it’s not that important.” And Kuroo didn’t argue with that. His eyes darted towards Oikawa’s tough hands that pushed him through the solid darkness of the theatre, until they reached the exit and was outside, in a deserted hallway.

And they just stood in silence. The raven wasn’t so sure – whether Oikawa was expecting him to take the initiative to spur a conversation, or just waiting for Kuroo to calm down and relax.

“Um, sorry for ruining… the movie. I get a little… fidgety when I’m outdoors.” He mumbled, and Oikawa gave him a look. He didn’t cross or anything, just a little… defensive? He couldn’t tell.

“Like I said, there’s absolutely nothing for you to apologize about. I mean, I understand- well, actually no, I don’t understand. But really, it’s fine. I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie anyway.”

That caused Kuroo to frown instead. “Then what were you looking at?”

“You.”

Tetsurou made use of all his fibers, all his senses to track the humor in Oikawa’s tone, actions, expression, everything. But he found none. He was usually anything but serious.

But no. Oikawa Tooru was being absolutely honest.

And Kuroo must’ve made some hilarious face, because Oikawa started to laugh.

“I mean it. Kind of hard to focus when you’re sitting next to me.”

“In a bad way, you mean.” Kuroo experimented, but the other shook his head in denial.

“I mean, fuck, if it’s bad to be fucking beautiful, then you’re the epitome of bad, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

What.

This couldn’t be happening.

At least, Kuroo was going to reject this situation with all his life, his soul-

“Really, Kuroo.” Oikawa smiled.

“You’re beautiful.”

And that became reason number 1.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that finishes the hella cheesy chapter. But really, perceptive Oikawa is precious. 
> 
> It'd be great if I can receive feedback on what I can improve, stuff like that! Other than that, thank you for reading another chapter of this fic!


	3. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, this could be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, late chapter. Things might look like a rush of events in this one, but it'll all make sense why - trust me. So please enjoy this new update as well!

_Fuck, I messed up, didn’t I?_  

Oikawa was in one of his rare dilemmas. He had just arrived home after parting ways with Kuroo at the train station (since Kuroo lived nearby, but he didn’t) and he had the strongest urge to punch himself in the gut after their meeting. Or pre-date, as he preferred to call it.

And- well, he was somewhat confident in his actions. Although the people he dated over the span of his previous ten years or so were 90 percent girls, he had some boys in the mixture (including an infamous Iwaizumi Hajime), so he possessed some valuable experience. He was fairly aware of how utterly different dating a guy and dating a girl was, personality and views and such. Of course, it went without saying that he went out with a variety of people as well. Whether that was from shy and nervous to outgoing and rambunctious, positive to pessimistic – name a quirk, and Oikawa Tooru would’ve known it from personal understanding. 

So, it was fathomable, that the setter would’ve been relatively self-assured about the outcome of this “pre-date”. 

Well, _fuck._  

There were several things Oikawa wanted to say. 

First off, he knew how he came off to most people – flamboyant in behavior, flirtatious, scarcely serious and grim, and often times sarcastic and a jerk (according Iwaizumi, anyway). And while those may be true, Oikawa held an obstinate passion about things he loved. Volleyball is a wonderful example. He poured his every last fiber of his being into the sport, for practically his entire life. And for perhaps the first time, Oikawa had discovered something- _someone,_ that sparked the exact same form of interest in his heart – and that was Kuroo Tetsurou. 

Kuroo captivated him with a certain light. Before the wedding, the only access available was the black head over some screen. He went as far as to browse through the seventh page of Google just to watch and read some more videos and old high school sports articles about Nekoma, hoping that Kuroo would be there exclusively, or something like that. Now _that_ is commitment. 

But anyway, there was this unnamable element about Kuroo that enchanted Oikawa, like a child with their new fascinating toy. He moved with unmatched grace, and his smile was radiant, but not blinding – it was just the right smile, comfortable to look at, pleasing to the eye. Speaking of eyes – his eyes were another phenomenon of their own. Hazel? He believed that was the word. No, but there was so much to it, other than just a _color._ It wasn’t as simple as, oh, you have dark brown eyes, or anything like that. In the videos, despite being quite zoomed out and all, Oikawa could still tell (with the help of his glasses, but that doesn’t matter) – Kuroo’s eyes contained depth, hunger, and an unquenched thirst towards- towards _something,_ like an unfulfilled desire.

Despite all that, Oikawa was vaguely aware that not everything was happy and sunshine for the other man. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like, according to a few acquaintances he knew. Bokuto had said himself, that Kuroo had long cut ties with all of them, even Kenma and Yaku, his former best friends, Bokuto included. Nobody knew the exact cause of this sudden enclosure, but nobody seemed to be questioning it, either. It was impossible to attain information, with nobody from his university coming from Nekoma either. All he had was a piece of useless talk from Hinata and Kageyama, which had been: “Kuroo had some rumors going on during his senior year, but we don’t know much more than that.” 

The wedding had been a heart wrenching confirmation to his suspicions.

Yes, Kuroo had changed. He wasn’t all Oikawa hoped to be – in fact, he seemed almost like a total opposite being from the man in the videos and pictures. 

But did Oikawa lose interest? 

Hell no. It quite triggered an opposite effect. 

Yes, he had changed. That part was true to a sharp point. But surprisingly, that didn’t transform his emotions in the slightest. If anything, it piqued Oikawa’s curiosity even further. Kuroo still walked and moved with unmatched grace, but possessed certain maturity to it. His eyes no longer held passion, an inferno of lust, or anything like that, but were replaced with a tangible sense of melancholy and solitude. In fact, it was almost heart breaking to witness the male shatter down twice, in front of Oikawa’s eyes. Oikawa couldn’t remember ever being that concerned about another person since high school, when Hanamaki got into a car accident. 

 _No, when was the last time my mind was even preoccupied with just_ one _person?_ When he was dating all those line of girls, it was like a blur. He could somewhat remember their hairstyle, how they wore their makeup, the tone of their voice, the wavelength of their personality – but nothing was ever crystal clear. To Oikawa, their eye colors were just somewhere in between a range of color lenses to natural shades, and their scent was a range of cheap perfume to pricey brand labels. So it was just an absolute first to him, that someone was ever so… so… _real._  

To him, Kuroo Tetsurou always felt so near, so close, like a permanently tattooed memory. 

 _Real?_ The word caused Oikawa to snort as he rolled over on his bed, bumping into his scattered pile of novels and alien collections. _He’s very real, all right._

That moved him to his second point in thought. As much as the current Kuroo enraptured him more so than before, it didn’t alter the shuddering truth in any way – that Kuroo was also mortifyingly broken, lost, and alone. Or at least, that’s how it came to Oikawa. 

There were a few times where Oikawa was… “depressed”, as Iwaizumi called it. But it was never anything serious. Sure, it seemed like the end of the world during the phases when it happened, but it turned out later not be much of a big deal – just like his envious obsession towards one Kageyama Tobio during middle school, that transcended quite a bit to his high school years. But he had more or less come to terms with that issue, and he finally felt the storm had resided. 

His point was that everyone experienced ups and downs in their lives. It was only natural. A human’s life wasn’t programmed to be constant that way. 

But despite all that, Kuroo was different. 

It wasn’t like these occurrences were rare. One of his colleagues in high school had resorted to ending his own life, and Oikawa was obliged to go to their funeral with his friends. But that moment was all so surreal, and overall just… just that. Sure, someone had died, and that was terrible. The thing is, Oikawa Tooru isn’t much of a sympathetic or empathetic person. His bright endeavor might scream otherwise, but that’s a thin cover. He bawled to sad movies and everything, but this was… different. 

 _I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for him._ The chocolate-haired man heaved a sigh. “Maybe I really should’ve taken that psychology lecture in university.” Ushijima had recommended the course to him, but he profusely declined. Oh, the stupid old days. 

His doorbell rang amidst his trail of rambles. Without a second thought, Oikawa stepped out to his front door and opened it.

“Ah, Iwa-chan.” 

“Don’t you ‘Ah, Iwa-chan’ me. Why the fuck aren’t you answering my calls?” His childhood friend barged into the apartment room, putting down a plastic container filled with an assortment of side dishes on the table. “What the fuck, your phone is on _silent?_ You’ve got to be kidding me.” The gruff voice rang in disbelief as he roughly removed Oikawa’s phone from the charger, effortlessly undid the password, and turned on the volume for his phone. 

“Aw, were you worried, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa grinned, closing the door behind him and opening the plastic container. There was a note from Iwaizumi’s mom telling him to take care of her son. “Your mom’s such a wonderful person – and then there’s you.” 

“No shit. Can say the same thing for your mom.” Iwaizumi proceeded to turn on the TV and switched to his favorite comedy channel, as if this was nothing but natural. And it was. “Were you outside or something? You’re in your best clothes.” 

“All my clothes are my best clothes except that lame orange uni jumper.” 

“No, bastard, like your favorite clothes.” 

“What? Oh,” The taller man glanced down at his crinkled attire. Yes, Iwaizumi was quite correct – this was his favorite set of clothing. He _did_ argue in front of the closet for about two hours before the “pre-date”, anyway. “Yeah, I guess. It was a pretty important appointment.” 

His spiky-haired companion frowned in confusion. “You sure don’t look happy about this ‘pretty important appointment’.”

“It’s not like I wasn’t happy or anything, about it,” _Yes, everything was going so well until-_ his frustrations tipped down from its container and spilled. “I thought the flow was great, and the mood was set, and that I did a pretty good job of keeping the conversations going- I mean, I may have overreacted to some of the commercials, but he seemed relatively okay about my interjections and- I was just really nervous, because I don’t know, he looked so fucking hot and I couldn’t concentrate on the movie but then he suddenly looks like he’s going to go through another panic attack or shit, and _god,_ he looked so scared but that wasn’t supposed to happen, and I just wanted this to be refreshing day for him since he always sounds so stressed and pressured and –“ 

“Shit, Oikawa, chill.” Iwaizumi interrupted him; obviously overwhelmed by the tirade of information and self-degrading that was ever so rare from Oikawa. “Okay, so you went out to see that Kuroo guy.” He began, and the athlete just furiously nodded, trying to calm down as demanded. “And I think you guys went to watch a movie, because you’ve been talking about that since March.” Another nod. “And you thought everything was going great.” 

“Yeah, and he looked really hot.” Oikawa’s comment was ignored as Iwaizumi continued.

“But then he ‘looked’ like he was going through ‘another panic attack’ so you… what?”

“I dragged him out of the cinema.” Sighing in regret, the brunette could only close his eyes and recollect his thoughts. “I couldn’t leave him like that. And I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know how, so all I could do was fucking tell him that everything was alright- like how _stupid_ is that? Nothing was alright, he could see it, I could see it, and everyone in the fucking world would’ve been able to see it.” 

Iwaizumi just listened in silence, as Oikawa carried on. “So I offered to walk him home, because it’s just a 15-minute walk you know, although I would’ve been willing to whether it was an hour or seven hour walk. But he was just so put off about the situation, and I had a gut feeling that it would only worsen his condition if I acted like a busy body. So he walked me to the train station instead, and we tried to talk about something else. But I couldn’t think of anything, and he couldn’t either, and it was just… it was _awful_. And none of that is Kuroo-kun’s fault, but I just hated how I couldn’t do anything when he was just so… so…” He could find the right word, so he just choked on his sentence. Iwaizumi seemed to get the message. 

The two sat in heavy quietness, a rather foreign atmosphere for the usually bickering pair. It was not until that Oikawa’s breathing had somewhat evened out, when the former partner had shattered the ice: 

“… You know, it’s my first time seeing you like this.” Fondling with the TV remote, the shorter man turned down the volume so that the unsuppressed laughter of the audience in the screen became nothing more than a low rumble of noise. “I’ve known you for, what…” Iwaizumi struggled to approximate the time range. “26 years? Something like that – and I’ve seen practically all the shitty sides and faces you have.” 

“My face is gorgeous, mind you.” 

“Yeah, like that fucking absurdity of yours, and all that shit. Not to mention, that I was the one that stole your virgin card.” 

Oikawa’s nose scrunched up at that. “ _Wow._ Never knew you’d take out that move, Iwa-chan. And the virgin thing was mutual – you took mine, I took yours. It was an adequate give-and-take situation.” 

“That’s not my point, Trashykawa,” said Iwa-chan waved his hand dismissively, “what I’m saying here, is that when we were going out, you were never concerned about anything like that.” 

“How would _you_ know?” The handsome other grumbled, rubbing his nose into the fluffy blue cushions of his sofa. Iwaizumi passed on an incredulous look. 

“Did you _really_ think I wouldn’t be aware of something like- fuck, Oikawa, I know well enough to be aware when my shitty best friend has finally found the love of his dreams, and you and I are experienced enough to know that that person was not _me_.” Oikawa tensed a little at that – and the spiky-haired male pursed his lips together after spitting out that angry speech. 

Their relationship was forced, rushed, rough, and revolved around meaningless, clumsy sex. Undoubtedly, amidst that mess, there were feelings. But the state of disarray was just too much, and the feelings were nothing but like a short blink, a burnt out flame. It didn’t take them a long time to realize that they weren’t compatible together – or at least, not as much as they believed they’d be. 

“… I know that.” Oikawa replied, “But I don’t know what to do.” 

Iwaizumi Hajime closed his eyes and sighed. It took him a few seconds to arrange the muddle of thoughts in his head. 

“You’ll figure something out eventually.” He finally lifted his eyelids, and sent a small, barely noticeable smile – that Oikawa obviously read through –

“You always do.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“… so I accidentally spilled the porridge all over his head, and man, he was raging mad –“ 

“No, you kind of deserve at least that much.” 

“It was an accident!” 

 _I wonder what I’m doing here._ Kuroo muttered in distaste within his head, taking another sip of the fizzy liquor. The shop was loud, and some English pop song was turned on about 10 levels too high for his ears. Yells for new orders placed and demanding customers rung close to the crease on his forehead, as an invisible hand fiddled with the inside of his guts. _Another terrible decision._

“Hey, Kuroo-san, are you listening?” His coworker, Ikejiri, already appeared to be half-drunk as his hand shook the can of beer with an unstable motion. 

He placed a rather irritated smile on his face, reluctantly responding to the drooling question. “Yes, of course I am.” He really wasn’t, but whatever. 

His team would usually go out for drinks quite frequently after their work was done, but Kuroo had never actively participated in any of their meets. If he still possessed a good shred of his personality in high school, he may have joined in without much hesitation, but unfortunately, that Kuroo of him was long forgotten. 

The sole reason why he had decided to engage in this drunken social meet was to avoid Oikawa Tooru. He just couldn’t bear to converse with the man further after that day, although it had been at least three weeks since that incident. Notifications arrived often from the athlete, and Kuroo was… well, he didn’t dislike them. But the discomfort but present, and that was probably because the black head cared too much about everything. He didn’t want Oikawa to pry into his insecurities, or tear down his façade – that was the only thing Kuroo had left, at this point. 

Ikejiri had already moved on to another topic he found his interest in when Kuroo returned to the conversation. Something around twenty minutes later, the cat-eyed man stood up and excused himself to return home – in which, his team was disappointed, as Kuroo had barely gotten a taste of what their definition of ‘real fun’ was like, but really, the raven could care less. 

The town was bustling with crowds of people rushing around in groups, filling the lit-up streets as the vehicles crawled with traffic. Cacophonous noise of pointless chatter, honks of cars, crashing audios, and flashy commercials seemed to swallow him as whole, leaving him bare and empty. 

_(“You’re alone, but surrounded.”)_

_(“You’re always not completely alone, but not completely together.”)_

_(“You’re not good at being alone, or being together.”)_

_(“Then what are you even capable of doing as a human being, Tetsurou?”)_

“Nothing.” He whispered breathlessly, burying his noise into the collar of his black turtleneck shirt. They were only two weeks into September, but it felt like the apex of autumn. Or maybe it was just him, because he was the only one that seemed to be freezing all the time. The wind was icy on his skin, as a shrill sensation of immobilizing cold shot through his body. Maybe, this wasn’t something that could be warmed with scarves or turtlenecks or jackets. 

Because he was always cold – cold from the inside. 

The milling horde had diminished as he walked closer in distance to his apartment. A motorcycle whizzed by, the furious roar of the engine making Kuroo wince and curl up, his face distorting with stress and anxiousness. 

_(“Because you’re always like that –“)_

_(“Because you’re always cowering away –“)_

_(“Because you always wear that fake mask –“)_

_(“Because you’ll never be able to be yourself –“)_

_(“Nobody will come to see you as who you are, Tetsurou.”)_

_I fucking-_ “Know that.” He cried aloud, his voice ripping away from his lips as the lamppost above his head flickered in tune. Fingers digging into his knees, Kuroo tried to recollect his breath and calm, choking over his words and whispers as he ran his other hand agitatedly through his hair, the tangled bedhead flowing off in multiple directions. 

It was only then, that his silent phone had blinked with light, and started playing the standard ringtone through the dark night. Eyebrows furrowing, the letters on his screen blurred from a fair distance as Kuroo muttered a few angry phrases and snatched his phone that was lying on the pavement. But his wrath vanished as fast as it appeared, as he read the caller ID: Oikawa Tooru. 

He probably wasn’t quick enough to receive the call though, because the first thing he heard when he picked up was,

_“-god, he sure takes an eternity to- Oh, Kuroo-kun? You there?”_

A bewildered jumble of regret and relief rushed through his system. _I shouldn’t have picked up,_ was the alarming signal that was a little too late to be turned off, but was speedily appeased by the waterfall of warmth that cascaded through his veins upon hearing Oikawa’s voice – mellow, light but not his usual gaudy tone, and etched with concern. He just sat there on the cemented ground, not saying anything as he stared into the blackness of the neighborhood, the setter’s words echoing in his head. 

_“Kuroo-kun?”_

The voice arrived once more, in which this time, Kuroo responded. 

“… I’m here.” He only realized that that was an odd thing to say – because technically, Oikawa would never know where ‘here’ was. Setting with ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ would’ve been the normal way to greet people. _I’m probably overthinking this._ Kuroo breathed through his nose, scratching the bumpy surface with his nails. 

 _“Great, thought you were pulverized into thin air or something. That’d be bad for me.”_ Why, was what the feline desired to ask, but he minced up the question with a slight twist in his stomach. _“But anyway, would you mind coming home? I could wait, but I don’t know, it’s kind of cold here and I’m wearing my thinnest T-shirt.”_

“You’re _what_?” That brought Kuroo’s hazy mind to a clear outlook. He scrambled to stand, knocking down the gigantic green trash bin a meter away in the process – in which he cursed a little and set it back to place. “Where are you right now?” 

_“In front of your apartment.”_

Okay, that spurred numerous questions in which none of them could be answered right away. But all Kuroo could concentrate on was that fact that Oikawa was wearing his thinnest T-shirt, that he was cold, and that he was going to wait there like a stubborn idiot until the black head returned. 

“Just,” Dusting off his pants, Kuroo gritted his teeth and ran through the frosty air. “Wait for me, alright? I’ll be there.” He didn’t even wait for Oikawa to answer as he cut off the call and threw his cellphone into his pockets. 

_Why is he here?_

_What was the last thing we talked about?_

_When was the last time I laughed over his texts?_

_Why do I want to see him right now?_

_Wasn’t I avoiding him?_

_But seriously,_

_Does that even matter anymore?_

He slowed his pace as he approached his apartment, blood actively dancing through his body, heating up his once cold skin, his muscles pulled tight and adrenaline driving him through the light jogs – it was a familiar sensation – one he never felt since high school. Small droplets of sweat formed on his forehead, aggregating and creating a cooled rivulet of liquid as it smeared his turtleneck shirt that suddenly seemed to hot for the weather – it felt hotter than ever. 

That was weird. He had never felt warm in the slightest, even during the muggiest summers for the past few years. 

The white, luminescent light flashed out into the streets, and Kuroo could see that the glass double doors of his apartment were left open for the residents to enter. His eyesight pretty much left him to a blur of contrasting colors, and the male regretted forgetting them at home. 

In front of the opened doors, however, stood a still silhouette of a tall man – about the same height as Kuroo, wearing a chestnut color T-shirt and Adidas track pants, crossing his arms and leaning on the brick wall of the building. All he could see was the vague outline of the man that was gazing at the opaque night sky, but he could tell instinctively who it was. 

His jog transformed into brisk steps, his breathing still heavy from the unbalanced run from a minute ago, misty pants evading his lips. The figure grew clearer with every centimeter than closed between them, until they were only a few meters apart. 

The man finally turned his direction, a blurry smile spreading across his face – and even with his terrible vision, Kuroo thought Oikawa was still as beautiful as ever. 

_“Really, Kuroo, you’re beautiful.”_

_That can’t be true._ The panting man gulped, his fists clenching tight. _I refuse to believe that, with you in front of me._

“Hey, Kuroo-kun.” Oikawa’s voice sounded a little more raspy and hoarse than usual. Then he paused, a startled look of suspicion crossing his eyes. “… Did you run here?” 

Kuroo wanted to argue. But all he could see was Oikawa’s tired chocolate eyes, the goose bumps on his arm that he was trying to appease with gentle strokes against his skin, and the tint of blue on the athlete’s chapped lips. “… You said you were cold.” 

“I also said I could wait.” _But there’s no way I could leave you like that._ Oikawa seemed to be testing him. His tone was challenging, as if waiting for the time of an explosion. The other arrived to a conclusion that it was better to leave that statement as is. Instead, he hesitantly, tentatively wrapped his hand around Oikawa’s arm – it was chilled to a freezing point, dry, and held a low trembling sensation. Smiling – it was slightly different from the ordinary flirtatious, vibrant smile that could kill girls – it was one where he had never showed before, where one side was more crooked than the other, holding a bittersweet angle, with a hint of relief and sorrow. “You’re warm, Kuroo-kun.” 

“… It’s only September. It’s supposed to be a little warm.” Ironic, because he was wearing a turtleneck and long pants. Intending to let his hand drop back his side, Kuroo loosened the grip he had on Oikawa’s icy arm, but the latter’s rough hand stopped him almost instantaneously. The feline’s palm was still clammy due to that previous race, and he had a delayed realization that he probably looked like an absolute disaster – his hair tangled like a haphazard bush, his face sweaty and his clothes wrinkled, still smelling like charcoal and alcohol. 

But Oikawa didn’t seem to mind at all. 

“Yeah? Well, you’re not very convincing, with your attire.” He was still holding his hand. 

“I get cold easily.” Kuroo didn’t mind. This felt surprisingly normal – like it was always supposed to be like this, as if it was stranger not to behave in such mannerisms. 

“So do I.” Their hands still clasped together, the fluff of chocolate brown nuzzled into the crook of Kuroo’s neck, and the man froze. It was only then he realized the dangerous proximity – they were definitely too close. But he didn’t want to let go of him. 

_(“He pities you.”)_

_(“This is a joke.”)_

_(“In the first place, there’s absolutely no valid reason of why he’d come here all the way to-“)_

“I missed you.”

His inner dialogue was disrupted by the sudden interference of a croaky voice and three words. _I missed you._ Just three words. Just ten letters. But it felt more heartfelt then anything he heard in the course of 26 years of his life. It brought up an unexplainable knot of emotions to Kuroo’s throat, and a pang of awareness that he indeed – more than anyone – had missed Oikawa Tooru as well.

They were just friends. Something inferior to that status of relationship, even. That’s what he solemnly believed in – because Kuroo never acquired something more than that before. He had friendships. He had a family. He had plenty of acquaintances – and he had teammates. He had a broken first love, and a marred relationship. 

So what was Oikawa to him, then? 

No, more importantly, 

What was _he_ to Oikawa? 

He didn’t know. Not right now, and he wasn’t even certain if ever. 

But the ‘I missed you’ he had heard struck close to his heart, as he became a wreck of feelings and nothing else. A sturdy arm wrapped around his shoulder, and it felt as if a cool breeze was embracing his rushing warmth. 

And all he could do, amidst that intensity, was to say the truth back – the truth he had never spoken for years, a buried Kuroo Tetsurou that had never been unveiled for ages, a piece of him he’d never thought he’d see again. 

“I missed you too.” 

It was only around a few weeks. But it came to him as if they hadn’t conversed in centuries, as he clumsily held his arm around Oikawa’s angular waist. His T-shirt was definitely thin as he proclaimed, as he could feel the bare temperature of the male’s back. 

A few minutes later, the two men awkwardly parted from one another, uncertain of what to say after that brief interaction. 

“Um –“ They both opened their mouths to speak simultaneously, and shut them again as the synchronization started. Kuroo motioned for the athlete to go first, and reluctantly, Oikawa did so. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” He articulated every sound, so that his message was clear and well-reciprocated. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about many things. But I’m not necessarily going to go in order, because… because I really need to tell you something right now.” 

“… Uh, sure.” 

Oikawa continued, growing a little faster with his sentences, his teeth clattering against one another – and Kuroo could tell that it wasn’t the cold that was affecting his speech. “I… heard things. But not the details, just the broad idea. About you. That’s probably rude of me, I know, asking for your personal information from other people. But I still did it. I wanted to know more about you. But even before that, I wanted to make sure that something like that time didn’t happen again. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to hurt you.” 

 _I’m not entirely sure right now, where this is heading._ He habitually scratched his upper thigh nervously, heeding Oikawa’s words. 

“I want to talk to you. I want to talk to you about so many things, about what you like to do, about what I like to do, about everything. I want to know you better. And seriously, I dated tens and hundreds- well, that’s a stretch. But I went out with many people. And I need you to know this – I never felt this way towards anyone, friends or lovers or family. You’re the only one.” 

_Was Oikawa’s voice always this low? This serious?_

“And most importantly, I need you to know this. And with how I’m reading your personality so far, you’re the type of person that doubts. You doubt yourself, you doubt everyone, everything that has occurred in your life. So I need you know for sure – that even if everything you’ve heard in your life was a blatant lie, this is the one truth you’ll hear. And that I’ll never take it back.” The heated inferno within Oikawa’s orbs were insane. Intensity he had never seen before – so different from flaming gazes he had encountered during those volleyball games, not empowered with thirst for victory, a lasting hunger towards the peak of the mountain. This was clearly not the same as people he had seen before. 

Because this was Oikawa Tooru. He was never the same as anyone. 

He was unlike every single thing Kuroo had seen his whole life. 

“Kuroo.” His undivided attention was drawn in like a magnet to Oikawa’s gaze, his face, his voice, and his every fiber as he kept a short and inseparable distance between them.

“I love you more than anyone- anything. Please go out with me.” 

For the first time in years, maybe for the next eternity – 

Kuroo believed that this could be true.


	4. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa's perspective of the confession.

“You want to know if we were friends with someone in Nekoma?”

“I still call Kenma every now and then, if that helps.”

“What, Tooru-san, are you reminiscing your fancy high school days? I talk to Morisuke every now and then, though.”

“Isn’t Hinata the most well-informed? He keeps on going to the throwback parties that he isn’t even invited to.” 

“Kageyama, you know that’s a big fat lie –“

Oikawa twisted his head to the left and embraced the chatter with regret. He had been the idiot – to bother asking these other group of idiots. Ever since Iwaizumi had visited two days ago, he thought about some plan – a plan to approach Kuroo. But since a direct action didn’t seem to be the ideal solution, he took the roundabout method, which was to ask others around. It felt disgraceful to poke his nose in some other person’s business, and mind you, Oikawa _never_ did anything to disgrace himself – but he had a valid reason for it this time. Or at least, what he convinced himself to be a valid reason.

It resulted in a marvelous idea called, ‘How-about-asking-your-teammates’.

Well, terrible idea.

“Why do you question, anyway?” Ushijima, wearing his default frown, served a murderous ball to the opposite direction. “And besides, it’d only be natural that none of the prefectures know them to a diligent extent. They never had a proper sort of standing except when the shrewd captain was a senior.”

Bokuto quickly arrived to the school’s defense, after swiftly putting on a jersey. “Hey, Nekoma’s team was well-coordinated. They practically possessed one of the highest defenses and receive rates in Tokyo. And Kuroo’s amazing. So were his teammates.” Curtly finishing his speech before spiking his fourth ball over the net, the former captain of Fukurodani landed on the floor. “I used to be real close to Kuroo, by the way. We don’t really talk anymore, though. I still have his number, if you need it – unless he changed it or something.”

“Oh, no, I already have his number.” The response kind of slipped without much warning, and it was too late when Oikawa realized his mistake. Eyes of suspicion and curiosity focused around him, and he was soon bombarded with differing reactions.

“So this time it’s Kuroo-san? And here I thought your romantic gear was off.” Nishinoya jumped up and down excitedly, as Hinata and Kageyama continued their stupid argument about cereal. Which, on a completely relevant note, irritated Oikawa – because the usual pattern was that Hinata got mad, Kageyama would feel bad, and then they’d kiss and act as if nothing happened.

“I have no intentions in interfering with your affairs, Oikawa, but don’t let it distract you from practice.”

“You should say that after you smooch off Tendou-kun’s ass, Ushijima-kun.” The setter shot back, and Ushijima raised his right brow.

“What does Satori have to do with this?”

“Oh my god, he’s your god-fucking- _boyfriend_ \- okay, this is pointless. I’m sorry I ever brought it up. Forget it.” Muttering some extra cusses under his breath, the chocolate-haired man sighed and picked up a ball, spinning it with both hands.

Warily inching near him, Bokuto opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His expression was something Oikawa had never witnessed before – a mixture of concern and confusion cornered his lips, with a hint of frustration and nostalgia mingled together. Oikawa pretended not to notice, assuming that the spiker would talk if he wished. And fair enough – Bokuto began his awaited speech.

“You know, I trust you and all, but uh… Seriously, why are you asking? Because if this is about Kuroo, then… uh…” The streaked-haired athlete seemed to be having a difficult time forming his sentences. Ushijima gave them a reluctant glance, in which Oikawa just jutted his chin as an indication to continue practice. The former received the message (miraculously) and shouted orders to the others according to training regime.

“If it’s about Kuroo-kun? What are you going to do, Boku-chan?” A teasing smile surfaced Oikawa’s face. “You do know that you’re a married man, right? Your husband’s going to be jealous if he finds out that you’re two-timing.”

That was to be taken as a joke of course – and the ordinary, normal Bokuto would’ve taken it as just that. But the ominous aura of the male in question didn’t break apart, and this caused a prickling crackle in Oikawa’s chest. He was aware that Bokuto had something to tell him, and he had a strong feeling that it wasn’t any good news.

After a moment of tense silence, golden eyes flickered and looked up. “… I’m dead serious here. If you’re scheming something weird with Kuroo, then don’t do it.”

“And who are _you_ to command me as you please?” _Shit, did I just snap at him?_ Biting down on his lip, Oikawa loosened his grip on the ball he was holding and shamefully turned his head to the ground. Of course, Bokuto was dead serious, and he wasn’t meaning to ‘command’ Oikawa or anything. _I’m being so fucking immature, for god’s sake._

Bokuto, however, appeared to be unaffected. Instead, he crossed his arms, as the crease between his eyebrows vanished as he sent a skeptical stare towards Oikawa’s direction.

“Do you have a crush on Kuroo or something?”

Oikawa gaped. “Are you fucking _psychic_?”

“Well, you’re not the only one. ‘S all history, though. Tons of guys had a crush on Kuroo before.” Shrugging with less intensity in his shoulders, Bokuto warmed his wrists as he slammed a ball into the covered wall, the setter catching it automatically as it bounced back. “I mean, none of them went well, which is why I’m asking.”

“I mean, I hung out with him these past few weeks, after your wedding.” Ushijima was passing on an impatient look – _man, that guy’s literally so into volleyball, after all these years –_ so the two paused their conversation and began jogging lightly around the court, their pace significantly slower than the others. “He’s unlike anything I’ve seen my whole life. Like, he’s not the type to stand out vibrantly in a crowd, but that’s what I’m attracted to, you know? The subtle beauty beyond the blinding light, kind of thing.”

“Mm, I get it.” Bokuto picked up his speed subconsciously, as Oikawa matched it accordingly. He was still wearing that odd expression, just that this time it was washed over with a sense of nostalgia – as if he was remembering something buried, concealed, hidden away. “So your point is, that you want the numbers of Kenma and Yaku?”

“You know them?”

“’course I do. Akaashi’s not that social enough to invite all those guests to the wedding, ya know, although I love that somewhat awkwardly antisocial Akaashi as well.” The nostalgic wave vanished almost instantly, at the mention of his lover. His golden orbs were filled with admiration and adoration, and Oikawa realized that Bokuto’s jog was practically a slow run now.

 _He seems to be really happy,_ was the impression Oikawa got. “You love Akaashi-kun, don’t you?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto’s response was loud and clear, as his voice boomed throughout the walls of the gym. Divided attention swerved in their way, but the spiker gave them no notice, now his mind absolutely overwhelmed by Akaashi Keiji. “The moment I met him, you know, I was like, ‘wow, he’s really pretty’ and stuff. But then he wasn’t _just_ pretty, he was the coolest person I’ve ever met, and soon after I was certain that he was the one for me. He’s so smart, for one thing – like, he went to Todai! Isn’t that amazing? He’s pretty busy right now, with his finance thing and all, but he still makes me dinner when I go home, and we watch movies together, and no matter how down I feel, he smiles, and I think ‘you know what, today’s a great day’!” Bokuto continued to ramble on about his husband, and Oikawa felt himself drifting away from reality, immersed in his own pool of thoughts.

 _Does Kuroo smile a lot?_ No, he didn’t. The smiles were scarce – and challenging to excavate. He would curl his lips at an awkward angle, something that appeared forced and formal and too practiced to be labeled natural. Oikawa noticed that Kuroo wasn’t the type of person – or at least, he wasn’t _anymore_ – to act like his true self around others. The Kuroo Tetsurou he heard from acquaintances and high school volley-fans was a sarcasm-oriented boy, deceitful and confident, with a mysterious air constantly surrounding his form.

 _But I saw him smile, like, once._ Correcting himself, Oikawa remembered Bokuto’s wedding. He found Kuroo standing near the soccer field, detached from the crowd as his hair wavered in the evening breeze, dancing along the windy lines with his hands comfortably placed in his pockets. It wasn’t a bright, exuberant kind of smile – but more nostalgic, as if he were reminiscing a bittersweet memory. For the first time, Oikawa believed that he witnessed the ‘real’ Kuroo Tetsurou that day – not the one running around within the rectangular screen of his laptop or phone, not the one that timidly congratulated Bokuto during his ceremony, not the one that hung around his friends like everything was perfectly fine – he was just Kuroo Tetsurou.

“I prefer him that way, though.” The commentary just slipped, as Oikawa turned a sharp corner of the rectangular court. He blinked; finally realizing that Bokuto’s chatter had long died out, and that the latter’s eyes were boring into him, mixed with incredulity and shine. _Fuck, I said that aloud, didn’t I?_

Expecting some verbal reaction from the spiker, Oikawa waited – but instead, Bokuto focused on his running again, and practice resumed into their normal tempo.

After everyone had departed from the gym, however, the hetero-haired athlete approached Oikawa with a small yellow sticky note in his hand, the paper slightly damp due to Bokuto’s sweat.

“It’s Yaku and Kenma’s contacts. If you wanna know more ‘bout Kuroo, I’d go to ‘em. Not sure they’d tell you anything – they never told anyone, except for me I guess.” Wiping his dripping liquids with his favorite sports towel (a present from Akaashi during their first date), Bokuto shrugged. “You don’t seem like a harmful guy. Kuroo must like you a lot, to actually escape his house for a social outing.”

Albeit being painfully aware that his love was still transparently unrequited, the individual special treatment caused funny flutters in Oikawa’s stomach. “Yeah? Well, I just need a general idea of what happened, not a 20-page information paper on Kuroo-kun’s history. I don’t want to hear the full story from someone that was merely _involved,_ to whatever extent. What matters to me is Kuroo-kun’s perspective, not of other people.” Picking up his loaded package, Oikawa turned off the lights of the gymnasium and headed towards the exit with the other athlete by his side.

“You know, Oikawa, I thought you were a much more garish guy than that.” A hearty laugh came from Bokuto, leaving an offended Oikawa.

“ _Garish-_ please, I am the living incarnation of wisdom and diligence! My unmatched beauty is for a another tale, but you need to realize, Boku-chan, that by no means do I intend to appear in such a vulgar manner –“

“I think Akaashi is prettier than you, but sure.” They came to a close as they parted ways in the dark, the setter huffing in fake agitation as Bokuto just wore his usual grin. “Oh, Oikawa, I forgot to mention – thanks for caring about Kuroo.”

The opaque blackness didn’t allow Oikawa to see what kind of expression Bokuto was wearing. _I wonder._

“Don’t mention it.”

 

* * *

 

_Jesus Christ, I’m 40 minutes early._

His slender fingers tenderly wrapped around the branded mug, one finger impatiently clattered against the glassy surface, the coffee inside creating small vibrations along with the rhythm. For the first time in months, he had worn his square lens glasses, and put on a slightly oversized navy long coat with a dark green beanie, his shirt plain gray and his jeans ripped here and there. He made an attempt to look at least a little neat and sensible, to form a passing impression for his guests. He went as far as to call Iwaizumi over to check over his attire, despite the stressed cusses and complaints of his best friend.

Oikawa checked his watch again. _37 minutes left._ Well, that was given that they were going to be on time, anyway. The earlier the better for him.

It took him the whole week and the previous weekend to convince Yaku and Kenma to meet him today. They were hesitant- no, they just straight-out tried to block him, but Oikawa is a persistent man. It cost all his persuasive ability and talent to call both of them out, and Oikawa wasn’t going to just waste away this golden opportunity that he earned for himself.

 _32 minutes. You’ve got to be kidding me._ Groaning for the seventeenth time in his seat, the athlete browsed through useless memes on the internet, then closing his phone after a minute that seemed like a few ten minutes. As he engaged in useless meme battles with his friends over his screen, he felt a disruptive drag of the chair in front of him, and his back tensed and straightened.

The man that took a seat looked downright uncomfortable with this arrangement, his freshly dyed blonde hair reaching down till his shoulders, and wearing a red hoodie that fit well over his petite figure. Oikawa recognized him from the videos of Nekoma – he was Kozume Kenma, their setter and next captain in line after Kuroo departed.

“Uh, hi.” The silent demeanor of the male was enough for Oikawa to understand that he had to begin the conversation. “Sorry for calling you out like this, out of plain nowhere.”

Kenma peered up, his eyes holding suspicion and reluctance as he tersely nodded and snuggled into the chair. “… It’s fine. Yaku should be arriving any time soon.” The waitress came by and the blonde ordered an apple pie and milk tea. A bright smile on her face, the girl repeated his order and quickly left for another customer calling for her. Kenma twisted his lip to the side and frowned. “Although, I’m still skeptical about your motives.”

“That’s comprehensible.” He expressed his sentiments – painfully admitted fact: if, by any chance, Iwaizumi was mentally scarred for whatever reason, and years later some renowned stranger approaches Oikawa to “talk” about him, the first wise choice Oikawa would make is to tell the person to kindly fuck off. But that wasn’t the case this time, and he was lucky to receive this chance. He had to exploit this well. “I wouldn’t have done the same, anyway.”

It was at that exact moment that Yaku entered the café. The male’s expression lightened when he saw Kenma, but quickly diminished once seeing Oikawa next. Yaku was even shorter than Kenma, which took Oikawa by surprise, but he wasn’t about to underestimate the man that received the best libero award during their same senior year of high school. It was either him, or Nishinoya from Karasuno – but Nishinoya quickly redeemed himself the following year.

“So, Oikawa-san,” Yaku started off with slight belligerence in his tone, “what would you like to hear from us today?”

“You know, Yaku-san, you don’t need to look at me like I’m the next dangerous thing to a bubonic plague.”

“Seems about the same level to me. What were you expecting, a warm welcome as we talk our asses off about Kuroo? That’s not going to happen.”

Kenma was twitching around in his chair, although not saying anything for the time being.

“I know it seems absurd.” Oikawa enunciated each word, slow and steady to make sure his point was getting across. Yaku didn’t interrupt him. “No, correction. It _is_ absurd. I wouldn’t trust me if I were in your shoes. I wouldn’t even grant this opportunity. Which is why I’m so thankful that you allowed me to be here today.”

The light brown-haired man rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ask for this. I just wanted to see what kind of jerk is meddling with Kuroo’s business this time.” But then he paused, as if wondering to add this or not. “Well, Bokuto told us about you. He went as far as to call us and inform us thoroughly about your… plans, per se, testifying that you were trustworthy and all that shit.”

 _Great, I owe Boku-chan a meal._ “Is that so? I’m indebted.” Smoothly continuing the conversation with no harm in his voice, Oikawa stirred his new cup of coffee. “Well, now that we have exchanged our greetings, I don’t want to waste our quality time together. If I may get straight to my point…” He sent a wary glance to Kenma and Yaku, who just nodded in approval. “I wish to know what happened to Kuroo-kun when he was in high school – or even just what happened to him will do. I don’t need the specifics, just enough for me to get an idea of how bad it was.”

“Before we tell you anything about such things,” Kenma, opening his mouth with tentatively, cast an inquiring stare at Oikawa. “Why do you even want to know about this in the first place?”

 _Because I love him,_ was the initial reasoning in his mind, but the athlete quickly dismissed that response. He wanted something more plausible at this encounter, something that made more sense and would explain himself better than his sprouting emotions.

“… It began when Bokuto showed me a video.” Gathering his final thoughts, Oikawa ascended into his calm explanation. “The video was shot a few years ago, during the Nationals of our senior year in high school. I saw Kuroo-kun in there. And long sappy story short, I became… obsessed, I guess, with him. Not the stalker-kind, but I saw him as something more special, more tender than that. So when we were at Bokuto’s wedding, I just kind of started talking to him, and we had a conversation where I made a flirty fool out of myself.

“And then we met again at the supermarket a little later, and I’m still trying to investigate what the trigger could’ve been – but the next second I realized, he was curled up on the floor and hyperventilating.” His chest squeezed in agony upon remembrance of that day. It was terrible – not Kuroo, but just the situation. How Oikawa could barely do anything, be of any help. “But anyway, we started chatting online after that. I was worried about him – I think all my friends were, too. We were all present that day when he had that panic attack. Kuroo-kun warmed up to me after a while, and I… developed feelings, I suppose you could call it – and well, we went to watch a movie together.”

Yaku’s eyebrows elevated at that, but Oikawa speedily went on to assure the other.

“I didn’t attempt anything. I would’ve, if I was making a move on some other girl or guy as usual, but he’s different. I didn’t want to treat him like everyone else – I wanted to create a distinction between him, and all the other people. I thought everything was running along fine, and that the day was going to come to and end just like I imagined – but no, something pulled the trigger again and I made him undergo another panic attack.” He drew a curt breath inward to take a short break, and talked some more. “I didn’t want to press him more than that about his… issues. But that didn’t alter the fact that I wanted to know more about him – the curiosity still remains, even now. I want him to tell me one by one, about everything he had to go through. But for now, I want to have at least a base of knowledge – so that I actually am aware about why he became that way.” He stole a glimpse at the two former Nekoma members, to see how they were reacting to his story – and fair enough, they didn’t seem as apprehensive as before.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” The last sentence came out as a desperate croak, as Oikawa bit the interior of his cheeks to suppress his frustrations from being released further.

He waited for Yaku or Kenma to say something, as he finished his speech. 

“… Kuroo was our pillar of support.” The libero leaned back on his own chair, sighing. “He didn’t crumble till the very end for the team’s sake. Even when we lost our last match against Karasuno, he didn’t show how crushed he felt, and he didn’t crack in front of everyone. He was just there for the team, as the captain. He’s respectable – he’s the best captain I’ve ever known in my whole life.” A hint of nostalgia could be detected in the brown orbs of Yaku. “Perhaps, because he had held in so much during his lowest years, that it all came flowing out uncontrollably later on.”

Kenma interjected the story softly. “Kuro already began breaking down during the advent of his senior year. He was depressed, and shattered. We don’t know the history behind all the shards. At first, he opened up to us. Then during some point in time, he began drifting further and further away – until he just never told us anything at all.” Grimacing a little, the short male bit his bottom lip in pent up stress and frustration. Just like Iwaizumi and Oikawa, Kuroo and Kenma were childhood friends developed into inseparable bet friends. The thought of them being torn apart like that to the point where communication was scarce and rare – it rang an unpleasant bell to the chocolate-haired man.

“I mean, we thought we’ve done everything possible. Not to mention, I was caught up with my college papers and prep work and all that load of crap, and so was he. We just naturally ceased conversation, and I assumed he was okay.” Yaku swallowed the remnants of his beverage. His expression was sullen, and distaste surfaced his skin. “A year after graduation, I heard that Kuroo was accepted into Tokyo Hospital. He…” Next to him, Kenma’s golden eyes were rendered empty as he twisted his head to the windowsill, as if trying to avoid hearing the next sentence. “He overdosed on sleeping pills. He consumed the whole bottle. He confirmed it _himself_ that he was trying to commit suicide.”

The hollow feeling in his stomach worsened, and unexplainable pain and grief possessed Oikawa’s mind. For a few seconds, he couldn’t hear a single word. His vision blurred to a blend of colors, to black, to white, to grey. His breathing felt constricted and waves of emotions lingered through his throat, refusing to come out. Numbness spread over his body, just like how that simple word sank in like sharp weapon.

_Suicide._

_Death._

_He tried to die._

_He could’ve died._

_Kuroo._

_Die._

There was a significant difference between hearing about a stranger’s suicide attempt, and the suicide attempt from a person you just fell in love with. The level of affection arrived like a rushing river, and the future you have imagined just seemed blotched and black and white, like something that should not exist, something ancient, something that was a but a dream.

“But he’s _not_ a dream.” He whispered aloud, his head bowing downward as his fingers grasped and pulled his own hair, a strangled choke leading to a breathless cough mixing in with the sound of the cheery café that seemed oblivious to his abyss of emptiness. He had underestimated the gravity of the situation – the pain of Kuroo, what he had to live through – what kind of living _hell_ he had to survive in – and how all that led him to an agonizing decision. Oikawa underrated that sorrow, that heavy burden Kuroo carried along with him – he overlooked the strength that was once there, the strength that had shattered along the way because the burden was too much, too painful for one person – Oikawa couldn’t see any of that. 

 _In love with him? Save him? Help him through this? What do_ I _even understand about him?_ Nothing. He knew nothing, understood nothing. It seemed like a joke. _I was so stupid. So lame._

“Hey, you hanging on alright in there?” Yaku’s concerned tone awakened him from his self-berating moment, as Oikawa collected his sanity back in place and stood up. Two pairs of cat-like eyes followed his figure, and the setter smiled. 

“Thank you for today – I really learned a lot. I’ll definitely make it up to you some time – but I have somewhere to go for now. So I’ll be heading off first, if that’s alright with you two…” _A plan. I need a plan. Not for myself, but for Kuroo._

Kenma shrugged, which probably meant he didn’t care either way.

“Sure. It was nice meeting you, Oikawa.” The shortest amongst the lot formed a crooked grin, one that he rarely showed to anyone. “Hope you take care of Kuroo for us. He’s kind of an idiot, but he’s a pretty cool one.”

Oikawa beamed back-

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

* * *

 

“So, what are you making?”

“A list.”

“Wow, I totally didn’t realize that an hour ago. Bullet points and words – of course it’s a fucking list. I’m asking what it’s for, Shittykawa.”

“I’m just trying to be clever once in a while –“

“Did I just hear that correctly, or are you high on your own idiocy again?”

“ _Rude,_ Iwa-chan!”

Their usual bickering filled the cramped bedroom of Oikawa, as Iwaizumi, who was toying around with his best friend’s laptop, leaned down to briefly scan through this ‘list’ the former was creating. He noticed that the taller companion bought a brand new, hardcover notebook for this occasion specifically earlier during the day, when they met at the local stationery store. Ever since, Oikawa was jotting down several bullet points of short, compact sentences with his neat handwriting (another important detail to note, that Oikawa never used his neat handwriting unless it was _absolutely_ necessary), and he was already around four full pages through.

The spiky-haired man squinted his eyes, and then decided otherwise. He had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to read this without specified permission. “Is it for uh… Kuroo? Right, Kuroo.”

“Yeah,” was Oikawa’s terse reply. He was so immersed in his writing that his aura radiated an impenetrable energy – similar to when they were practicing in high school, and Oikawa was working on his skills alone, when everything was flowing particularly well.

In solemn silence, Iwaizumi watched Oikawa scribble away and fiercely turn the page to a blank side. His lips were pursed, and his chocolate-brown orbs transformed into a much more furious color, concentrated and determined. It had only been a few days ago when Oikawa had been in one of his terrible moods, where he was wallowing with depression and unidentified stress. After that, he had picked himself up and began this new “project” or whatever, which obviously involved this ritualistic action of pouring out one’s soul in a notebook just like their old high school senior days. 

“You must really like him.”

That caused Oikawa’s momentum to come to a halt, as the athlete’s glasses tilted to one side as if to express his confusion in a rather physical manner. “Where’d that come from?" 

“The fact that you’re not denying that floating statement would be a good start.” Rolling his eyes in half-disbelief, Iwaizumi sat on the bed. “But you’ve just never taken such measures like this before. I’m in desperate search of where the fucking idiotic Trashykawa I’ve known my whole life has gone off to.”

His pen dropping with a low clonk on the desk, Oikawa removed his glasses and pouted. “Hey, you’re the one that told me that I always figure something out.”

“I never implied that I would know that you’d be madly in love.”

“What’s wrong with me being madly in love?" 

“Nothing is wrong about that.” Oikawa passed on a pointed look, but Iwaizumi continued. “It’s just amusing to see you experience your first love.” His all-knowing smirk irked the setter, as he abandoned his list as it was and moved onto his bed.

“You make it sound like I was never in a proper relationship before.”

“You weren’t.”

“I’m _extremely_ offended.”

“There’s nothing but truth in my words. Remind me: how long have known each other?”

Oikawa groaned, sick of this ongoing argument. He had been reprimanded by Iwaizumi his whole life regarding his dysfunctional relationships, including when they had dated out of hormonal drive. And despite what others around him believed, Oikawa Tooru was far from being a romantic. He was not a dreamer, but the most down-to-earth person if you ever got to know him properly. That being said, he never took any of his affairs with much consideration or care – it was honestly just like an extended one-night-stand.

The dull ache on the side of his index finger suddenly grew prominent, as he frowned and eyed the caved in skin – an ugly result of writing too much.

Fingers.

 _Kuroo has really long fingers, now that I think about it._ He mused, his thumb fondling around with his other four fingers on the same hand, as he pictured Kuroo’s in his. _I wonder if it’s a silky smooth hand. Maybe a rough and calloused one. I wouldn’t mind either one, really. His hair, too. His bed head is really fascinating, not in a sarcastic way, but truly fascinating. I’m probably blind with emotion. He’s really tall, too. Isn’t he taller than me? Or are we the same height? He’s definitely thinner than me, though. I suppose he lost some muscle after he quit sports. Is he eating properly, anyway? Who doesn’t eat popcorn for years? Like, that’s irrelevant to whether you’re a helpless hermit or not – popcorn should never become an exclusion in one’s- wait, this is unrelated._ Smiling vaguely, Oikawa imagined Kuroo all over again, from fingers to hair, personality to voice.

“You should go.”

Iwaizumi’s gruff advice was what yanked the other out of his daydream.

“Uh, sorry, what?”

“You should fucking go, is what I said, Shittykawa.” His best friend pinched the bridge of his nose, as if exhausted from this whole stupidity. “You know what? Get out of here.”

“This is _my house_ –“

“Your argument is invalid. Get your ass out of here.” Dragging him out to the front door, Iwaizumi placed Oikawa’s phone in his hand, shoving his back towards the exit.

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to make me do, and besides, I’m in my thinnest shirt right now, Iwa-chan –“

But before he could even make a defending statement, he was kicked out of his own apartment room. His hands twisted on the doorknob desperately under the flickering round light above, but the door was firmly locked in place, and his hands were freezing due to the sudden contact with the chilled metal. He wondered if he should cuss at Iwaizumi for neglecting him in such a manner, but the numbness in his chest shouted otherwise. A tingling sense of warmth erupted from his fingers, and phenomenal pain blossomed from all parts of his body, gradually, with a flowing motion, but certainly, definitely, overwhelming and spreading all over his system.

It was a sensation foreign to him, never felt previously in his life.

“I miss him.”

Oikawa whispered aloud, and realization struck him hard. Desire burned within him, not the passionate fire and adrenaline from volleyball, the desire to win, conquer, and rebel against authorizing power – but an omnipresent craving, this irresistible longing –

_I want to see him. Touch him. Hear him._

“Tetsurou.” He felt the name roll over his tongue, and it was unlike any other name that ever had. Just three syllables, two simple kanji characters, one name. But to Oikawa, someone could’ve pronounced it and he would’ve heeded it as some kind of gem – an impossibility. _I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say it to him one day. His name._

Detaching himself from the ground, his feet started moving. He had money in his pocket. The night air was cool and breezy, and the traffic lights illuminated the bustling city. Well – nothing would’ve mattered, anyway. Even in the hottest of summers, and the coldest of winters – Oikawa would probably still be sprinting through the streets of Tokyo, to wherever Kuroo could be.

 _Logically thinking, though, I only know his address._ “His apartment it is, then.” He tapped on the plastic window of the bullet train, as he felt a few knowledgeable eyes glancing in his direction. His name was muttered in the background every now and then, but thankfully enough, nobody was brave enough to actually speak up their recognition.

**_“The next stop is…”_ **

_That’s my call._ Oikawa readied his legs to run, edgily standing on the tips of his toes, then descending back to the vibrating surface again. For once, he expressed his gratitude towards all those years of training that built of this monstrous stamina.

The doors opened, and he started to run. Almost bumping into about three people and on the verge of motorcycle accidents about five times in a row, Oikawa panted as he looked up at Kuroo’s tall apartment. He gulped with slight uneasiness, anxiety bubbling from the pit of his stomach. _Stop acting like a fucking high schooler again, Tooru._ Scolding himself lightly, the athlete approached the security guard that was sitting on a foldable chair near the entrance.

“Excuse me, but has a resident named Kuroo Tetsurou returned? I’m his… friend, but I don’t really know what floor or room he lives in.”

Repositioning his spectacles, the guard raised a skeptical brow, but then opened his mouth. “If you’re talking about the spiky-haired engineer lad, then he hasn’t been back since he left at noon. First time it ever happened.”

That caused a yarn of concern to build within Oikawa. He wanted to ask why, or what, or anything – but by obvious reasoning, there was no way that a mere security guard would know such information. “… Thank you.” The guard passed on a nod, as the setter ripped his phone off from his pants’ pocket, his teeth clattering from the cold, as his glistening sweat rapidly frosted from the strong wind. He scavenged in frenzy for Kuroo’s number, and tapped impatiently at his screen, his thumb slipping from the glassy exterior due to the excess liquid that trailed even to his fingers. When the signal began to go, he put his phone to his ear, trying to calm himself.

The first ring traveled by.

_Come on, what’s taking him so long?_

Half of the second ring-

“Oh my fucking god, he sure takes an eternity to –“ He voiced his agitation in the open, until the other side clicked and he heard a low buzz. Warm relief rushed through his stature, the feeling odd against his chilled skin. “Oh, Kuroo-kun? You there?”

Only pregnant silence consumed the connection, and worry was quick to serve Oikawa’s mind once again. He bit down on his bottom lip, and spoke once again. “Kuroo-kun?”

A few agonizing seconds later, a response finally arrived.

_“… I’m here.”_

_Took him a billion light years to say that, huh?_ Oikawa almost allowed a bit of laughter to evade his mouth, but restrained the urge as speedily as it came. “Great, thought you were pulverized into thin air or something. That’d be bad for me.” He was being very honest here – it really would be bad for Oikawa. “But anyway, would you mind coming home? I could wait, but I don’t know, it’s kind of cold here and I’m wearing my thinnest T-shirt.” It felt as if he was guilt-tripping him into coming, and Oikawa usually only ever used that method against his opponents, such as one hell of an Ushiwaka, but he was just that desperate.

 _“You’re **what**?” _ A cracked cry exclaimed over the phone, and the shrillness of the voice caused Oikawa to jump away from the speaker. He could hear Kuroo’s uneven breathing, as he mumbled the next sentence, audible rustling going on in the background. _“Where are you right now?”_

“In front of your apartment.” Leaning on the brick wall, Oikawa placed his free hand into his pockets, shivering a little from the cold atmosphere. Iwaizumi really was cruel for just kicking him out like that, without a jacket whatsoever.

 _“Just,”_ Kuroo sounded exasperated. _“Wait for me, alright? I’ll be there.”_ The line disconnected, just like that, before Oikawa could even utter another word. He blinked at his screen in slight disbelief – he wasn’t expecting that reaction at all, anyway. He thought Kuroo would ask more questions, about why he was here in the first place, since when, and the sudden diminutive talk between them during the past few weeks. But he didn’t. Instead, he just ended the call without any warning and left Oikawa hanging like this. 

“He really has a thing for making me go insane.” _I like that part of him too, though._ Gazing at the night sky- well, really, it seemed for like a blanket of black dotted with gray waves, like an endless sea woven above his head. It formed myriads of mysteries, and unexpected surprises – but it was still a beautiful dark shade, smooth and coaxing, easy to look at, but still imperfect somehow. But that flaw was what refined the beauty, made it phenomenal and exquisite as it was.

_I really can’t tell if I’m describing the sky, or Kuroo. Probably doesn’t matter._

That was about time when he felt a presence approaching by his side. Heavy pants were echoing under the lampposts, hot and damp. Oikawa turned his head in its direction, and his heart was swarmed with emotion, his stomach tightening with acknowledgement. Eyes wavered for a millisecond and glued itself to the hovering figure, which was shaking and exhausted.

“Hey, Kuroo-kun.” The athlete managed to greet him, until he saw Kuroo’s glistening forehead and heavy inhales of oxygen. “… Did you run here?” The comprehension dawned on him, as the other wore a somewhat ticked off expression at his noting. 

“… You said you were cold.”

Oikawa retorted effortlessly, “I also said I could wait.” But his heart almost stopped when Kuroo’s hand rose from his side and wrapped around his arm covered with goose bumps, the soothing heat like a solace of his dreams. His eyes burned from the contact, as his mind rung softly – _it’s really him._ Oikawa smiled a little, gritting his teeth just ever so slightly so that it wouldn’t be as obvious on the outside, but enough to pull back the welling hotness in his eyes. “You’re warm, Kuroo-kun.”

Twitching a little, Kuroo said, “It’s only September. It’s supposed to be a little warm.” 

The raven’s hand almost dropped from his skin, and alarmed by this action, Oikawa quickly caught his hand and brought it back to his skin. Kuroo’s eyes widened a little at this, but soon reverted to its default size.

“Yeah?” Smirking, the setter examined the black head’s clothing. “Well, you’re not very convincing, with your attire.”

“I get cold easily.” Kuroo replied quietly, his orbs firm in position and staring at Oikawa – it wasn’t anything intense, but just the usual soft gazes he’d often give to Oikawa.

 _I love him._ “So do I.” Tightening his grip around Kuroo’s hand, Oikawa nuzzled into the crook of the other man’s neck. He smelled like a cheap barbeque grill, tinted with charcoal and bubbles of alcohol, mixed with the lavender washing soda planted into his turtleneck shirt, and the natural minty aroma of the feline. His hands were a little clammy with cold sweat and not exactly soft or rough, just in between. That felt perfectly ordinary, though – Oikawa almost thought why he didn’t expect this sooner.

“I missed you.” The sentence flowed like a rivulet of sensations, the pit of loneliness and regret only deepening into a scar as he pulled Kuroo against his physique. He wanted his feelings to be reciprocated, for Kuroo to understand this useless but preciously held gemstone he created, an unrefined piece of him labeled as ‘first love’, towards this utterly defective yet endearing human being called Kuroo Tetsurou. He desperately hoped, wished, that Kuroo felt the same- 

“I missed you too.” The words were spoken much like a choking combination of sounds, delicate like a pianissimo tune on an instrument. A trembling arm wrapped around his waist, and they just stayed like that, uninterrupted by anyone under the dim moonlight. 

When they separated rather awkwardly, none of the two knew how to begin a decent conversation after the affectionate interaction. 

“Um –“ Oikawa’s ears heated and blood rushed to his head as he noticed they spoke at the same time. But Kuroo gave him a look to indicate that he should start first, so Oikawa did. “I wanted to talk to you.” He read his thoughts aloud like he was reading a textbook, clear and transparent without any other ulterior motive. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about many things. But I’m not necessarily going to go in order, because… because I really need to tell you something right now.”  

“Uh, sure.” His expression certainly contradicting his affirmative words, Kuroo nodded. 

 _Make sure he doesn’t misunderstand you. Don’t rush this, and take it slow. Make sure your message is clear, and easy to comprehend._ “I… heard things. But not the details, just the broad idea. About you. That’s probably rude of me, I know, asking for your personal information from other people. But I still did it. I wanted to know more about you. But even before that, I wanted to make sure that something like that time didn’t happen again. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to hurt you.” _Am I nervous? Am I shaking? Fuck, yes I am._ “I want to talk to you. I want to talk to you about so many things, about what you like to do, about what I like to do, about everything. I want to know you better. And seriously, I dated tens and hundreds- well, that’s a stretch. But I went out with many people. And I need you to know this – I never felt this way towards anyone, friends or lovers or family. You’re the only one.” Oikawa couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so uneasy. Probably during his debut game, and never so much after that. 

It amazed him, how much one person could transform him so drastically. 

“And most importantly, I need you to know this. And with how I’m reading your personality so far, you’re the type of person that doubts. You doubt yourself, you doubt everyone, everything that has occurred in your life. So I need you know for sure – that even if everything you’ve heard in your life was a blatant lie, this is the one truth you’ll hear. And that I’ll never take it back.” _I mean it. I’ll never take it back. You need to know that, Kuroo Tetsurou. I’ll make you know it, even if you don’t want it._ A renewed determination was set aflame within him, and Kuroo’s eyes wavered slightly, as if expecting something that he shouldn’t be. 

 _I hope he feels the same._  

“Kuroo.”

_I hope he understands, someday._

“I love you more than anyone- anything. Please go out with me.” 

And for the first time in his whole life, probably for the upcoming future to be –

Oikawa believed this love was true.


	5. Gentle Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY GUYS, for the late update. The chapter itself is way shorter than the other ones, due to my packed schedule, but it's break soon, so hopefully updates will be much more frequent then.

“Please go out with me.”

His exhaling breath stopped dead in his throat. And for the first time since high school, his mind was set in full-alarm, like a bolt of lightning had rendered his brain useless. His fingers twitched nervously, as if trying desperately to hold onto something – something that could support this wave of emotions. 

(“He can’t mean it.”)

(“It’s Oikawa Tooru – he’s more than just beyond your league.”)

(“He’s saying that because he doesn’t know who you really are.”)

(“What does he know about you, anyway?”)

“I –“ Kuroo choked out, grasping the cloth of his shirt, his knuckles white against the black turtleneck. He shut his eyes tight; his jaw clenched together, his mind struggling to piece the right words together. Right words? There were no right words. Everything he said went wrong, hurt someone, hurt himself, so whatever he said, he will hurt Oikawa-

A gentle, but freezing hand touched his flustered cheeks, Oikawa’s thumb tracing his jawline. “Kuroo.” He smiled with warmth, and suddenly his cold fingers felt scorching hot against his skin. “I’m not expecting an immediate answer. You can take as long as you want.” Kuroo hesitantly opened his eyelids, predicting wavering chocolate orbs tinted with contradictory claims. But no, he was met with firm, determined eyes, a radiant happiness painting Oikawa’s toned face. 

“As long as I want.” He stupidly repeated, his voice soft and doubtful, in contrast to Oikawa’s definite, upright volume. 

“That’s right. As long as you want, Kuroo – whether that’s a year, ten years, thirty years, the rest of your life – well, preferably earlier than my death, or yours – but I’ll wait. You, on the other hand, can think about it how much you want.” 

How can he be so sure? Mused, the black head felt the freezing hand depart from his face. The athlete then chuckled a little, his broad shoulders shaking at the reaction. 

“You seem to be saying how I can be so sure.” Oh. I can’t be that readable. “It’s fine, I’m just good at understanding facial expressions. Even Daichi has a hard time hiding something from me. I’m pretty amazing, right?” Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. “But if I would give an answer… I don’t know. It’s hard to say, but I have a feeling I won’t fall in love with anyone else other than you.”

Kuroo snorted. 

“Hey, did you just- I’m hurt. Offended. Violated.” He was obviously joking. Which was an odd realization, because the feline always felt uncomfortable about ‘hurting’ someone, whether than was actually serious or humorous. In this case, he felt as if it was absolutely natural. 

Weird.

Grinning like an idiot, Oikawa leaned back on the brick wall. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it, but isn’t ‘Kuroo-kun’ too… I don’t know, it sounds so distant. Can I get an upgrade?” 

“You make it sounds like you’re getting a software updated.” His uneasiness diminished for good, Kuroo led the way into his apartment. He figured that they had things to talk about – and besides, Oikawa didn’t look like he was about to leave anytime soon. And very well, the latter followed without complaint. “Call me whatever you want.” 

“Then, Kuro-chan, this probably sounds wrong especially after I just confessed my heart out to you, but can I stay the night?”

Kuroo almost coughed his bitter saliva right back out of his lips. “What?”

“Well, my best friend locked me out of my house. My house. Because that’s what best friends do, right? Kick you out in your thinnest shirt without a jacket, and just leave you at the front door just like that.” Oikawa glanced in his direction for a second, and quickly added, “I still have some money. I’m pretty sure Makki- uh, Hanamaki lives nearby, if you’re not –“

“It’s fine.” Kuroo tried to sound cool about it (and he was seventy-percent certain he was flunking it), as his apartment door clicked open. “You can stay.” 

The other man’s face lit up significantly, almost reminding Kuroo of a light bulb switched on. Then many thoughts rushed through his head, as his hand wrapped around the doorknob. 

His house was messy. When was the last time he changed the bed sheets? Fanned his blankets? Washed the dishes? Did he clean up the files he was organizing yesterday, or the blueprints for the team’s new project? Oh god, was it still on the couch?

(“What did I tell you?”)

(“He’s going to take the confession back in the next minute.”)

(“Or what, do you actually want to go out with him?”)

(“Are you actually thinking you’re worthy of him?”)

(“You’ve gotten pretty arrogant, haven’t you, Tetsurou?”)

He released a shaky sigh; his heart beating faster and faster as he slowly, agonizingly, twisted the knob. The door made a creaking sound, and finally Kuroo pushed it fully open, his fingers trembling as they searched for a familiar switch. The light blinked once, and then flickered on, as his small home became visible. 

Oikawa took off his shoes, neatly aligning it with the other sneakers and boots and whatnot that were sprawled around the floor. The sound of blood pounding against his eardrums consumed his senses, as Kuroo tried to find his calm. It was just his house. Just his house, nothing else-

“So, where do I sit?” With a bright note, Oikawa looked around, seeming unbothered by the appearance of his surroundings. In fact, it didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. 

“Oh, um,” A ripple of relief spread throughout the dark haired man’s body, as he placed his bag down on the counter. “The couch – anywhere you find comfortable, really.” So the other flopped down on the floor, next to the low desk Kuroo had in the middle of his living room. “I’ll get some drinks, so feel free to watch TV or something.” 

He barely heeded a response before briskly moving through an array of clothing that was scattered on the floor. It had practically been nearly seven years since anyone had been welcomed into his house, and he was pretty certain the last time he had willingly done so was actually ten years ago, when Kenma had forgotten his PSP on Kuroo’s bed. 

For any other ordinary person, an… acquaintance, or friend, staying the night shouldn’t be an insufferable circumstance. At least, that’s how he would’ve thought when he was fourteen, when he actually wasn’t an emotional wreck and all that. He’s just staying the night, Jesus. His fingers felt numb as they touched the chilled jug of tea in his fridge. He must’ve taken out the glasses at some point, because they were on the sink. 

(“He’s perfect.”)

(“A golden piece next to a half-finished sketch.”)

(“He’s supposed to be going out with someone smarter. More good-looking, taller, thinner, more talented, more confident – someone more than you. Someone that is not you.”)

(“Tetsurou, disappointments do not deserve to speak.”)

He almost spilled the tea onto his furry carpet, as he became lost in his thoughts. That’s right. It was twisted, but the negativity and pessimism brought peace to his mind. This was the norm, his life. A disappointment, the looming glumness and constant suspicion – that was what finalized him, the unfinished sketch. Sudden hope, unexpected light brought panic – it was if a creature was screeching within his guts, to come back to his senses, that he was being nothing but disillusioned. 

He’ll take it back soon enough. Picking up the filled cups, Kuroo stepped back into the living room. Oikawa was seated on the floor, his legs outstretched as he examined the blueprints that were left on various pieces of furniture, clearly out of order. His doe eyes sparkled with amusement, as if he had newly discovered an interesting toy. 

“Those are for work.” The engineer mumbled as he handed him the glass. 

Oikawa put the blueprints down on the floor again, receiving the beverage with his free hand. “Sorry, was I not supposed to look at it?”

“No, it’s not that,” Kuroo corrected, “it’s not even complete, anyway.” Sipping the jasmine tea, he fumbled for the TV remote and turned it on. Some random Korean drama was playing, so left it at that, assuming that Oikawa would change the channel if he desired to watch something else. 

“Mm.” Hummed the other, and the two men sat in silence, both eyes glued on the TV screen. 

It was not until the episode ended, that conversation spurred back into life. 

“By the way, Kuro-chan,” Advertisements were shown one by one. “I meant it when I said that I loved you.”

Don’t say that, was the first thought that entered Kuroo’s head, as his hands squeezed the empty cup on his lap. “Why do you say it again?”

“Because, you seem like the type that won’t believe me unless I repeat it countlessly. Or never.” Oikawa said quietly, and the black head’s shoulders tensed. The truth in that revelation was strong. To Kuroo, love felt like a foreign concept, a common myth. To him, his life was parental love abandoned, a lost first love, a manipulative relationship that left nothing but scars, quite literally, at that – how many times had this ‘love’ beat him down? How long had it been that someone had actually meant it? 

In the very end, all he could manage was, “… Sorry.”

But Oikawa smiled. “Don’t apologize. I understand – though, probably in a different sense than you.” Passing on a questioning glimpse, Kuroo frowned. “I never trusted love. Someone would confess- well, numerous people would confess, in various forms and altering words – but nevertheless, the idea seemed too abstract for me. But that was because I’ve never experienced love myself – not until now.” Then quite sadly, he added, “You’re hurting because you simply loved too much by yourself, Kuro-chan.” 

Loved too much by yourself. Just hearing that made him want to burst out into tears. 

(“If Koutarou is happy –“)

(“Not a big deal –“)

His breathing seemed to turn shallow but sharp, not knowing how to respond. He found his nails scratching against the glassy surface of the cup, uncertain and wild. 

“But you know – that’s alright.” 

Kuroo blinked, as Oikawa continued – as if stating a mere fact. “Frankly speaking, nobody’s charged guilty for loving someone too much. I’d be in jail long ago if that were true. And not to mention, you can’t love someone too much.” His sweet grin – the positivity had to be contagious. Or else, there was no reason for Kuroo’s mentality returning to peace again. 

“Why do you love me anyway?” He grumbled.

“I’d take at least an eternity to say all of them, Kuro-chan.” 

“There really can’t be that many.” At best, he could maybe think of one. And even that seemed like he was giving himself too much credit. 

“I mean, if you want a concise, definite answer, it’d be ‘everything’.” 

That brought a bright red blush to Kuroo’s cheeks, as his eyebrows narrowed in embarrassment. “You’re impossible.” 

“Yeah? I know I’m quite impossibly hot.” Oikawa winked, blowing a kiss to Kuroo, who rolled his eyes – but couldn’t help but break into a crooked smile. “But really. I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t like anything about you.”

The black-haired male stiffened a little at that. 

(“Oh, you actually like guys?”)

(“Fuck, get away from me.”)

(“Is that actually why you’re on the guy’s volleyball team?”)

(“It’s nice that you can take advantage of your position, isn’t it?”)

“… That’s probably just you.” He tapped the floor a little, trying to soothe his heartbeat. His past seemed like a fleeting dream – forgettable but existent, a dull ache that you had to live with. It was supposed to be a silly rumor that began from his appearance. Then it expanded to something much more, and the confrontation became inevitable. Before he could stop anything, people had started to create a mask for him – a mask he never wanted, but a mask others forcefully put upon him. A label, basically – as if he had to be that person, as if that was his fate. 

There’s a huge difference between a cover you form, and a cover others form for you. If you form a cover for yourself, then you don’t need to mind the eyes of others – because it’s what you created, whether that is to protect a secret, conceal a personality, or to deny a hardened fact – it’s all about you. But once someone sticks a label on your face, your identity, your soul – then it’s like being locked in an inescapable cage. The label will become increasingly visible to others, and soon, you’ll be revealed to the world as that label – it doesn’t matter who you really are. Once others begin viewing you a certain way, you can’t help but doubt. Who am I? It’s what Kuroo thought about everyday. But no matter how hard he put his mind into it, the only answers he could think of were adjectives and words others had said about him. 

“Perhaps so.” Oikawa replied, “But you have to realize that you can’t be someone that everyone likes.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Everyone seems to like you.”

The athlete snorted, throwing his head back in exasperation. “You have to see all those anti-fan clubs I have. And to be honest, I have a pretty shitty personality. I like to believe otherwise, but come on, let’s be serious here. I’m only human.” He smiled at the other male – “To me, all that matters is what people important to me think.” 

People important to me. Kuroo paused, giving that a short thought. It was a question he hadn’t considered – and if he did before, he certainly forgot the answers now. 

His parents –

(“Tetsurou, why couldn’t you just be normal?”)

His classmates –

(“Were you just taking advantage of us every time?”)

His teammates –

(“Kuroo, you know we wouldn’t –“)

The guys from that day –

(“Hey, what do you think will happen if we post this picture online?”)

His chest seemed to tighten under his loose shirt. Everything seemed blurry, definitely visible, but like a blob of colors and shades. He was always, just always unknowingly afraid of ascertaining such topics – it just made him painfully aware of how deprived of actual healthy relationships he was, if ever had any in the first place. Long ago, he could vaguely recall conversing with others effortlessly, not having to note more than three personal reminders every time he spoke, making sure his hair looked bearable every morning, etc. 

Subconsciously, he rolled his bottom lip inward, chewing on the chapped surface. It made him realize once again, how ridiculous this situation was – like, they do say that opposites attract – but that was purely in terms of personality, not of circumstance. It didn’t apply to the context of ‘a commoner and a noble’, or in his case, ‘Mr. Perfect and Mr. Mental Breakdown’. Oikawa was aware of whom exactly he had to care for, what his goal was, and anything along those lines.

Kuroo was unsure of everything. Literally everything, from relationships to his own being. 

Sometimes, he wasn’t even sure why he was alive.

“Who’s important to you?” He asked quietly, trying to dismiss his personal issues. 

“Hm?” Oikawa glanced sideways, and twisted his lips. “Well, if we’re going from least significant, with no particular offense to my social pyramid of acquaintances – I guess it’d be my colleagues, then my team, then Iwa-chan, who’s practically on par with my family –“ He then passed on Kuroo an intrigued smile, his lips tugging gently upward – “Then you, I guess.”

The other male gaped. “I can’t possibly be –“ So high up there, to be honest. 

“Well,” Swatting his hand, the chocolate brown hair swerved in the air. “Of course, you and my family are completely different entities. At least for now, I think so. It’s a separate kind of ‘care’, if you get what I mean. It’s hard to explain, but –“ His grin was endearing. Kuroo almost refused to believe that that beautifully crooked line was for him. It was surreal. A dream. 

“You’re just too precious to me, Kuro-chan. I probably don’t deserve you. And it’s rare I ever admit things like that.” 

For a second, all sounds seemed to be muted. The low grumble of the electric fan, the cacophonous mixture of various noises outside, the flapping paperwork along the path of the wind – he could only hear Oikawa. The way he uttered each syllable was so sincere, so artless, that Kuroo almost believed it was true. 

“You mean, the other way around.” He regained his conscience, and replied. “You met me like, what, 3 times. That’s not enough to decide whether I’m of that much worth –“

“It’s not about the amount of hours or days or years we spend together.” Gently intercepting him, Oikawa touched Kuroo’s fingers. “It’s what I see in you. And sure, perhaps, time is the deciding factor that determines that. But I’m certain, that as every second flows by, I’ll just find you to be more vibrant, more precious than anyone I previously encountered.” 

“But,” The black head wanted to argue. He didn’t know why, but he just felt like he had to. He couldn’t come to terms with this – it was something he desperately desired to be told for a long time, that he was needed, that he was important – but when someone actually did assert to effort to say so, it just seemed like a lie. A too good to be true, kind of notion. “What do you see in someone like me, anyway?”

Oikawa was drawing irregular circles on his hand. “I see many things.” He murmured, as if he was singing a lullaby. “But I think I see a strong person – that doesn’t know that they deserve so much more.” Then he stopped for a while, and so did the weird hand thing. “But I want to know more. Anything will do – I just want to know more.”

Something eased in Kuroo’s heart. Oikawa was usually consumed with comical mockery, jokes, humor – but he was genuine when he had to be. He never had any underlying motive to his desires towards Kuroo – they were always purely what they meant. “What do you want to know?” He inquired – if it was Oikawa, he felt a little better about revealing elements about himself. 

“Anything. If you’re uncomfortable about something, just don’t talk about it. I don’t want to force you into saying anything you don’t want – anything will do. Anything about you.” 

And so began their very random conversation – with preferences on fish, a little bit about volleyball, and carrot cake. 

By the time they were about to move on to another topic, the ticking noise of the clock lulled both of them to sleep – 

And for the first time in long years, Kuroo felt safe.


	6. I Love All Your Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love your springs, your summers, your autumns, and even your winters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolded, italic text = flash backs.
> 
> This chapter is finally, a revelation of Kuroo's past. I have a lot I want to convey through this chapter - I hope it reaches all of you.

It had been a few weeks ever since Oikawa had confessed to him. October was coming close to an end, and the trees were being transformed bare, the breeze cold and sharp.

In all honesty, Kuroo knew how he felt long ago. He… well, _returned_ Oikawa’s feelings, and he was uncertain whether that was a good thing or not. Maybe to the average human being, love was all about the mutual emotion, simple and clear – the ‘if you like each other, you date’ kind of vibe. 

But for Kuroo Tetsurou, it wasn’t that easy. 

_I love him._

_(“But you don’t deserve him.”)_

_He told me to trust him._

_(“You saw how that turned out in high school.”)_

_He’s probably different._

_(“He may be different to you, yeah. To him, you’re just one of the people that will remain in the list of names that dated Oikawa Tooru.”)_

For the umpteenth time that day, the black head sighed and slumped back on his bed. He didn’t know what to do. He desperately tried to remember, how the ‘Kuroo Tetsurou’ from ten years ago would’ve reacted to something like this. It was just a confession – he got tons of those in the past. When he was still a somewhat decent person, at least.

 _He’s going to get sick of me._ Nobody desired such a pessimistic, glum lover. He’d eventually get exhausted at how often Kuroo degraded himself, bashing his own personality, his appearance, and his entire existence. He’d attempt to comfort him at first, just like all the others, and then eventually grow numb about the negative commentary. Because everyone was like that – nobody wanted to hear the same thing over and over again.

_(“Seriously, Kuroo, you need to get over that.”)_

_(“How many times do I need to tell you –“)_

_(“Are you just going to tell me the same story over and over again? Because to be honest, you’re starting to bore me out.”)_

A story.

That’s what it was. A story. There needed to be an exposition, rising action, the climax, the _drama_ – that’s what they wanted. They didn’t want the repetition of the exact identical scene. They wanted him to change everytime, as if depression was a soap opera, as if pain needed to involve cutting, suicide attempts, and as if the whole circumstance itself was actually fake, _fictional_ – because it was a story. That’s how detached it was to reality.

He thought to himself a million- no, a _billion_ times – what would actually happen if he met those expectations. Create the suspense – and then kill himself.

End his life for good.

The ideal climax.

 

**_“Kuroo-kun, were you trying to commit suicide?”_ **

**_His throat felt dry, and for a moment, Kuroo was convinced that he lost his voice. The bloody wrist he had last witnessed before he was engulfed by darkness was now covered in bandages, an IV connected to his veins._ ** ****

**_He was alive._ **

**_Unsurprisingly, what filled him wasn’t relief, but disappointment._ **

**_Maybe he should’ve cut deeper._ **

**_“Yes.” He mumbled. “I was trying to commit suicide.”_ **

****

He vaguely remembered his parents beside him then. His mother’s face contorted into incomprehensible anguish as he confirmed the doctor’s inquiry. The expression of his father was one he had not seen before. His former teammates came to see him, their eyes unusually puffy, and their voices hoarse. Lev looked like he had been torn into pieces, as he just uncontrollably said, “I’m sorry” over and over again. Yaku didn’t say a single word, and neither did Kenma. He had never known during that time, but apparently other schools had visited him too, along with a few coaches, such as coach Nekomata.

 Logically, he should’ve been thankful. People cared about his life – and cared enough to pay him a visit at the hospital.

But to Kuroo, their efforts seemed futile. It didn’t provide him much motivation of wanting to live on further – but he couldn’t refuse the pressing request of everyone that came to see him, all asking him of the exact same thing – _“Please live.”_

He picked up his phone. Hesitantly scrolling through his contact list, he stopped at one name and stared at it, as if it would automatically transmit his message to the designated other. He exhaled once, and then mustered up the courage to press the ‘call’ button on the screen.

The first ring passed by, and so did the second. Kuroo’s pulse rate significantly increased as he heard the monotonic sound in his ear, biting his bottom lip anxiously at the very same time. Halfway through the third ring, a ‘click’ echoed on the other side of the line. 

_“… Kuro?”_

The feline chewed the inside of his left cheek for a second, silently contending in his mind whether this was actually a wise idea. But he spoke – or else, he knew, that nothing would be accomplished otherwise. “Kenma.” His voice strained, he tried to sound like he was normal. “Are you free right now?”

_“… Yeah, I am.”_

“I… need to talk to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroo inhaled a freezing breath as he opened the door to the café. He found Kenma sitting on a seat in the corner, blinking at his latte and slice of apple pie. His undivided attention was soon focused on Kuroo, upon noticing his arrival. Dragging a seat across from Kenma, Kuroo quietly sat down.

“Sorry, did I make you wait?” He asked, and swiftly made his order as the waitress approached him.

Kenma scanned him for a few seconds, and then shrugged. “Not really.” The last time he saw the male was at Bokuto’s wedding – which was quite a while ago. They never called, texted, or even briefly encountered one another after that. Their fleeting youth seemed like a dream – when they were inseparable as a duo, one sleepover after another, and one videogame after a movie. Now they were just two guys in their twenties, that happened to be best friends when they were younger. “… What did you want to talk about?" 

The black-haired male considered this conversation once more. He had plenty simulations planned – he could always retract his original question and avert the topic to something more casual, more ordinary. But Kenma always saw right through him, no matter how many years have passed.

He forced a small smile on his lips, and began to talk. “I… think I have someone I like.” His heart was pounding like mad, that Kuroo was almost convinced that the sound was audible to others. Kenma merely raised an eyebrow at the statement, and sipped his warm cup of latte.

“Good for you.” He mumbled. “What’s the matter, then?”

“It’s…” _Make it sound like you’re okay. Like you’re just a little unsure, like it’s not a big deal._ He slowly turned his gaze to the side, sighing. “They like me back. I think. But I don’t know if I really… deserve to be with them.” Saying his concerns aloud left an acrid taste in his mouth. His head ached, and his throat felt impossibly arid. It was ridiculous, how he was getting so nervous about a confession. Because really, to an average person, it shouldn’t be a huge fuss to make out of. The fact that he made it sound like the end of the world was just shameful.

But the blonde just frowned – it was a deep frown. “Kuro.” The black head winced at the tone. Kenma had a crease between his brows – he only did that when he was very irritated with something.

_(“You’re just repeating the same story over and over –“)_

_(“It gets boring –“)_

“You have every right to be with someone you like.” Kenma articulated every syllable clearly, his voice low and calm. “I don’t care if it’s a billionaire, or the most famous celebrity in Japan. You deserve more than that, Kuro.” He declared, setting his fork down on the plate. 

“We’re too different.” Running his fingers through his hair, Kuroo gritted his teeth. “He’s got the looks, the personality, a balanced life – he’s too good for me, Kenma.” _That’s right – too good for me._ “There’s no way he’d be happy in a relationship with me.”

Kenma went silent. His face was pensive, and he was nibbling on the crust of his apple pie. Then he opened his mouth, his mind set. “Kuro. A few years ago, when we met at the hospital, I thought about it a lot.” He paused, as if it actually hurt him to talk about this. “I wondered why I never took the issue seriously when you actually mentioned it. I asked myself why I couldn’t do all the things that Kuro did – because Kuro always took my side.” His golden orbs wavered slightly, his words spoken at a decided pace. “I didn’t know what to say when I saw you lying on the bed. I didn’t know how to help you. I’m not Kuro, so I don’t know what to do when people are like that.” 

 _That’s not true._ Kuroo thought, _I never know what to do either._

“But no matter what happens, I’ll be on Kuro’s side.” Kenma said firmly, “If that means going out with Oikawa Tooru, then do what you want.”

“Wait.” Kuroo hurriedly stopped him – “How did you know –“ 

“Yaku and I talked to him a few weeks ago.” Smoothly explaining it through, Kenma leaned back on his chair. “He looks a little gaudy, but he seemed okay. He wanted to know more about Kuro, or something.”

Stunned, the black head blinked hard, not knowing what to say. Myriads of altercations regarding the issue revolved around within his mind – because there was absolutely no way, _no way_ , him and Oikawa could be a thing, even as a joke –

“It’s okay to do what you want, Kuro.” The smaller male mumbled softly, just loud enough for Kuroo to hear. “It’s okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, Kuroo found himself standing in front of Oikawa’s apartment, glancing at the given address with slight doubt. It took him ages and hours of heated debate whether to actually do this or not – because he had never done so before. It was absolutely nerve-wracking, and he even thought about turning away and returning to his own apartment, cancelling whatever plans he had scheduled for the day – but that thin strand of hope still remained, and Kuroo felt like he had to see the end of this – whether its outcome was going to be a horrid disaster, or a beginning.

The chocolate-brown-haired athlete was propped down on the couch, crossing his legs and scrolling through his phone. Then he looked up upon heeding Kuroo’s entrance, and his expression immediately lit up. “Hey, Kuro-chan!” 

“Hey.” Kuroo managed, and he wondered if he had to wear a forced smile again – only to realize that he was already wearing one, not forced, but completely natural – just his crooked, odd curve. Oikawa always had weird effects on him.

“Iwa-chan said he had some annoying business to take care of, so he went off in the morning. He wanted to see you, at least, but since he can’t, he told me to relay his greetings. Which is just _so_ rude, if you ask me, because you know what he said? He said, ‘Thank you for taking care of Shittykawa’. Like, what kind of greeting is that, right?” Oikawa put on an incredulous face, and Kuroo rolled his eyes and snorted.

“Tell him I said, ‘you’re welcome. I greatly sympathize with the calamity you deal with everyday’.”

Feigning a hurt expression, Oikawa threw his head backward. “ _Rude!_ I can’t believe you’re both doing this to my poor, fragile soul.”

“Pardon me, we _are_ talking about you right now, right?” Kuroo snickered, and for a moment, he felt like he had returned to how he was before – a series of actions he vaguely remembered that he would’ve taken when he was younger. Oikawa mumbled a few more fake complaints and unlocked the door to his home.

“It’s not all that organized, by the way. I asked Iwa-chan to help me clean the mess, and he kind of did since you were coming over, but then he just betrayed me and left me to do the rest.” Kuroo followed Oikawa inside, and observed his new surroundings. It appeared to be a little small for two men, but at the same time, the room was filled with warmth, and provided a fuzzy feeling. It made Kuroo feel at ease. 

The brown-haired man called out from the kitchen, “Oh, you can sit wherever you want, by the way.” So Kuroo carefully sat down on the leather couch, as he rubbed his fingers over the black cushions. The rectangular glass table had all kinds of garments lying around, such as sports magazines and stationery. But one particular object caught his attention – and that was their high school album.

Flipping through the pages, Kuroo could hear the steaming pot from a distance as he scanned the numerous faces and photos in the book in peace. He stopped at the ‘senior’ section, and looked for Oikawa.

 _There he is._ Nothing had really changed significantly about Oikawa – he looked a little younger, a little childish, maybe arrogant, and probably flamboyant and flirtatious. But otherwise, he was the same Oikawa Tooru he knew – warm, with a blinding smile.

“Oh my god, you are _not_ allowed to look at that.” Placing a tray of tea and some snacks on the table, Oikawa made a pouty face and scooted closer to Kuroo. “I look _terrible_ in those. I mean, my beauty is still evident, but can you believe this treacherous angle? I’m serious, they need us to take selfies.” And then he proceeded to excitingly narrate and caption a few group photos, such as the one where him and his three other friends – Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Iwaizumi, Kuroo believed – were making dumb expressions and posing like the power rangers, Iwaizumi looking as if wanted to drown in the nearest pool.

When he was done talking about most of them, Oikawa glanced at Kuroo. “How about you, Kuro-chan? How was your high school?”

“Oh,” His fingers squeezed the round surface of the cup, where the inner contents threatened to spill. He was harshly reminded of the whole reason why he was here in the first place – about his past, about what he had been determined to tell Oikawa. “Um, okay. For the first two years, at least.”

He didn’t steal a glimpse to witness Oikawa’s altering of expressions, but he instinctively knew that the athlete’s face had hardened at that statement. Silence engulfed the room temporarily, and nothing was heard except the unrest of traffic noise outside.

With a cautious edge, Oikawa asked, “… What happened during your senior year?”

“Well, that’s a broad question.” Kuroo laughed just a little – he didn’t know why, but he just felt like he had to. To nullify his anxiety, to stop the pounding sensation within his chest. “I can’t get into all the details, but, well,”

“There was this rumor that was going around in my grade. That I was gay, or something like that. But those kinds of rumors always exist, and it wasn’t even exactly a lie anyway, so I figured it’d disappear in a matter of days – maybe a few weeks at most. And it almost did – like, rumors go around all the time, one after another. Mine was hardly more significant than the others. But then when I was going home one day, these group of guys approached me. They weren’t from my class, and we didn’t have any joint lessons together, so I didn’t really know them that well.”

 

**_“Hey, you do it.” One guy nudged the other one, as they snuck nasty glares at one another._ **

**_“No, you do it. It’s disgusting.”_ **

**_“You’re the one that suggested the whole idea.”_ **

**_Kuroo frowned. Three guys just appeared out of nowhere, surrounded him, and were now bickering like he wasn’t even there. He thought he had more presence than that, to be honest. “What the hell do you guys need?”_ **

**_That seemed to catch their attention. One of them burst out laughing – it was seriously starting to get on Kuroo’s nerves, whatever they were attempting to do. Then the tallest one of the lot – he was actually taller than Kuroo by a few inches, which was a rare occasion. His dark auburn hair seemed to slither over his skin, and gave the black head a chill down his spine. He wasn’t a terrible fighter, but he wasn’t the best – and he’d never gotten into many brawls in his life, so he wasn’t all that experienced, either._ **

**_“Don’t take this the wrong way, alright? It’s just for fun.” The tall guy wore a dirty smirk, as he leaned down a little towards Kuroo. Behind him there was only a bricked wall, and the other two guys were blocking his path to evade the situation – and one of them had a phone in his hand –_ **

**_Before Kuroo could fully analyze what was actually going on, the taller guy suddenly pushed him onto the wall, and kissed him. The taste of his lips had a faint scent of alcohol and nicotine, and his breath was stale, his auburn bangs brushing over the tip of Kuroo’s nose. He heard the sound of a mechanical ‘click’, and that’s when Kuroo noticed that everything was spiraling downward – everything was going very, very, wrong –_ **

**_The taller guy parted his lips from his, and then muttered._ **

**_“You taste fucking disgusting.”_ **

****

Oikawa looked like he was about to puke next to him. Kuroo didn’t really feel all that much from narrating the story – it was a scene often replayed in his head, and he had gotten quite used to the grotesque visions.

“The guys that took the photo posted it all over social media. The other guy’s face was censored and wiped out – it was only edited so that it was obvious I was kissing a guy from my school. Naturally, people weren’t interested who the guy was, but by the fact that I was actually gay.” He mumbled dryly. “And really, that was okay. The problem came when the news was related to my parents, and then to the teachers.”

 

**_“Tetsurou, is this true?” His mother’s stare held contempt, desperation, disappointment, and disbelief – as she quivered in her seat, his father just looking at the far right. “Tetsurou, answer me.” She slammed the photo out in front of him, that censored photograph, where it almost made it look like Kuroo was actually the one who initiated the kiss, like he was actually enjoying it, like it was actually fucking_ ** **real _-_**

**_“Mom, that photo- that’s not true. He pushed me, and –“_ **

**_“That’s not my point,” She almost screeched at the top of her lungs, her eyes red and wide. “Are you actually gay? Is that what you are?”_ **

**_The topic of homosexuality was never brought up on their dinner table. Kuroo always assumed that his parents were not very particularly sided about the subject – and he always planned on confessing the truth to them some time – but not like this. “I… I am, but mom, you need to –“ It was the worst thing he ever said in his whole life, presumably. His mother screamed and broke down on the table, and his father just shook his head and tried to console her, not even sparing a second glance at his son. The older man looked at him, his gaze steely and strict._ **

**_“Tetsurou, apologize to your mother.”_ **

**For what? _He thought – their son, him, was forcefully assaulted for what those guys deemed selfishly as ‘fun’, he was humiliated for his sexual disposition in front of the whole school publicly, he felt just as devastated as they were – and now he was being required of an apology – because of who he was. Because he was gay, and that’s all that obviously mattered to his parents. His eighteen years of them, being their son, being their blessing, or so they told him on all those petty birthdays – now suddenly didn’t matter, and it was all because he was gay._**

**_“Tetsurou, now.”_ **

**_His mother’s sobs filled the living room as his father just passed on a stern look._ **

**_“I need to apologize because I just happen to love someone of the same gender?” Kuroo demanded, his voice quiet. “I need to apologize because of who I am?”_ ** ****

**_“Tetsurou –“_ **

**_“You’re being disillusioned, Tetsurou.” His mother yelled, her words muffled as her voice turned groggy. “Why couldn’t you just be normal, like all the other boys?”_ **

****

“My mother wanted me to continue the family business and all.” Kuroo explained, as he took a sip of the chilled coffee. “They didn’t disown me or anything – they thought about sending me to the therapist, but you know how those don’t really work.”

_(“You’re disgusting –“)_

_(“Not normal –“)_

_(“You’re being disillusioned –“)_

His breathing hitched, and his pulse rate increased dangerously. His vision seemed to pale, and the atmosphere of the room suddenly felt freezing, and uncontrollable fear overwhelmed his mind, and he just wanted to breathe, breathe, _breathe –_

“Kuroo.” A warm hand wrapped around his hand, and Oikawa was sitting in front of his curled form. “Kuroo, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The athlete assured him, his eyes soothing and gentle. “You don’t need to talk about anything if you don’t want to." 

His heart rate seemed to calm down, and Kuroo shook his head. “No, I want to talk. I’m almost done.”

Oikawa nodded slowly, as he returned to Kuroo’s left side.

“… So, as I was saying, I told my parents. The teachers got to know, and one of them – my homeroom teacher, actually, was homophobic. She started excluding me from the rest of the class – I could tell she was trying not to, because she was a teacher and all, but gradually, I became isolated from the remainder of the class. I tried to talk about it with a few of my classmates, but most of them grew bored from listening to me. My teammates were supportive, but we were all busy – from tournaments, entrance exams, college papers, stuff like that. The situation just got worse and worse, and…” His lips went dry, and the chapped surface felt more prominent than before. “… After the first year of university, I tried to kill myself.”

The words came out clean and flowing, to his surprise. He felt like the confession was going to be far more dramatic – but it was plain and transparent. The fact that he tried to end his own life, finish everything – it just seemed understandable that way. An unknown bitterness spread over his tongue, and he gulped, almost choking on his saliva. Mixed emotions pooled within his stomach, and he suddenly felt lost – so lost. He had tried to kill himself. He had always physically known that – but the pain felt foreign, and the experience fleeting and surreal. Now that he had told someone else after all these years, excluding that doctor whom he didn’t even remember now – it felt so vivid, the scars raw and the color of crimson from that day on his pale skin dripping, dripping –

“Kuroo.” Oikawa’s thumb touched his face, and there was a crease between his brows. A choked sob escaped the black head’s lips, and his eyes filled with tears – he didn’t know why, but the sobs continued to come, and the tears were endless. It had been forever since he cried – he never felt the need to do so before. “Kuroo, can I hug you?” The other male asked softly, his voice fluttery and strained next to Kuroo’s ear. The feline gave a shaky nod, and soon a strong pair of arms pulled him into a solid embrace, his face buried in Oikawa’s shoulder, as he just cried.

“It’s probably not the right time to say this,” Oikawa’s voice trembled a little, “But I really love you, Kuroo.” His calloused hand was drawing circles on Kuroo’s thin back. “No matter what anyone says about you, I love you.” 

The raven laughed a little, amongst his sniffles. “Liar.”

“Rude, I’m serious.” Oikawa chuckled. “I’m not going to force you to just get better. Everyone has their own seasons. You’ll have your springs, summers, autumns, and winters. You can’t be bright and happy, like spring time every day. I can’t be like that, either. You’ll have your winters, where you’ll feel depressed, sad, constricted – and that’s okay. It takes time to transition from one season to the next.” His voice was silent, almost like a whisper. “I love you, Kuroo. I love all your seasons. I love your springs, your summers, your autumns, and even your winters. You’re Kuroo to me, all the same.”

“… It sure is a long winter, then.” Kuroo mumbled next to Oikawa’s shirt, feeling the latter’s hand on his back.

“That’s fine. I love your winters, too. You don’t need to force yourself into spring. You can take your time.” Oikawa paused, and then smiled. “I love you, Kuroo.”

Whatever doubts he had before – they had momentarily perished within Kuroo.

“I love you too, Oikawa.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a multi-chapter story on AO3, so to be honest, I'm quite nervous. Since this pairing seems to be really rare and unpopular, I was hesitant writing it for a debut fic... of sorts, but if you happen to be one of those readers into OiKuro, then please spare the time to leave some comments about this chapter - because that'd help me a lot to improve my writing in the future. 
> 
> Thank you!


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